


feel it in my soul

by lacunia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Regulus Black, Child Abuse, Death Eaters, Good Regulus Black, Horcruxes, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Multi, Murdering your family is fun, Obscurials (Harry Potter), Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), POV Regulus Black, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black-centric, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacunia/pseuds/lacunia
Summary: Regulus Black centric one-shots! come from my tumblr @regulusprompts.chapter one: narcissa asking for regulus to be draco's godfatherchapter two: regulus becoming an obscurialchapter three and four: regulus killing death eaters & the aftermathchapter five, six & seven & eight: regulus stabbing evan rosier's hand with a fork and afterwards
Relationships: Regulus Black & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Regulus Black & Sirius Black
Comments: 105
Kudos: 254





	1. Probably Not the Best Idea.

**Author's Note:**

> "@tolkienelvesworld asked:  
> Could you do one were Regulus and Narcissa have a good relationship and they just talk/do something together?"

The morning was dark and stormy, a grey sky plastered around him like watercolour, clouds drifting and spreading, eating away at the white light of the sun.

Regulus sat at his desk, scribbling a letter. His handwriting was harsh and scribbled, the ink thick and then thin, thick and then thin. He let out a sigh, his left hand cramping up from his stubborn, quick writing.

He had always been left-handed, much to his mothers’ displeasure who found it messy and silly. Most of the ink went on his hand instead of the paper, but Regulus made sure to clean the mess almost immediately after all his letters, to avoid lectures upon lectures.

It didn’t take long to realise Walburga only lectured him every second of every day because she had accidentally made doing the same to Sirius a habit.

The 18-year-old was writing a letter to Barty Crouch Jr, who was writing to him about the place he was currently at, which was called Bath and located in the south west. He had mentioned how his father had dragged him along, Barty Crouch Sr having to meet up with some Ministry acquaintances and wanting his son to be there as a ‘ _happy, conceited, snobby son of a git_ ’, according to Barty Jr.

‘ _Don’t get killed without me,_

_Barty_.´

His signature was...less than professional, ( _Regulus’s mother would have a heart attack at the sight of it, but he always made sure to hide the letters from his friends to make sure no successful snooping was present in his room_ ) and Regulus could almost laugh at the irony of the words Barty had obviously not made anything out of.

He didn’t realise how morbidly, badly, terribly, his signature was.

How true it would soon become, with Regulus most likely going to die soon.

Regulus shoved away his own morbid, bad, and terrible thoughts, instead quickly finishing off writing his letter. His last letter to his friend. Or even his last letter ever.

He sighed, again, his rough breath hitching in his throat. Regulus stood up, the chair sliding across his wooden floor and he glanced to the auburn brown and beige owl quietly dozing off in the cage near his bed.

Apollo. ( _Evan had voted Sir Fluffy, Barty stating they should call him Hoot because he’s oh-so-original, but Narcissa had ultimately told him the name would have to fit the Black-Family-Aesthetic, so he had settled on Apollo much to his friends’ disappointment._ )

Regulus softly tapped against the cold metal cage, the owl peeking his seemingly-gold-infused eyes open before sitting up and ruffling his fur. He smiled softly and opened the cage, holding his hand out as the owl stepped forward onto his fingers.

The 18-year-old stepped back over to his desk, where the window sat in front, the view of the outside world not being pleasant or pretty at all, instead showing the empty, dark, and cold streets and the pale sky above.

He opened the window, feeling Apollo’s peculiar gaze on the side of his head whilst doing so. The light wind danced inwards, but they both ignored it. The black-haired-boy set Apollo on the windowsill, before glancing over his letter again, an odd feeling settling in his chest.

‘ _No promises,_

_Reg_.’

The signature was fitting. He supposed Barty would find it funny after Regulus was dead. Or traumatic. Either or.

He put the letter in a tight, white envelope with the Black crest branded on it before turning it to Apollo, who was silent of his chirping for a moment. Regulus frowned, and the bird lowered his head before looking up.

He almost seemed...sad. Knowing.

Regulus closed his eyes and bit his lip, before opening his eyes and petting the bird. He passed the letter to the owl who organised himself, and then Regulus nodded, mumbling, “Give Barty a pinch for me.”

The bird let out a chirp before swooping out his open window, like a paper plane upon water. Regulus let out another sigh, and for a second, he let the wind flow throughout his room, soft and nearly pleasant, just watching Apollo become a distant figure.

Regulus felt at ease, and his shoulders untensed.

But then there was a knock on his door, and he jumped in surprise, turning as it was opened a second later.

“Narcissa’s expecting you soon, did you know? She sent a letter,” Walburga Black muttered, staring down at an abundant amount of letters in her hand, flicking through them absentmindedly.

Ever since the death of Regulus’s father and Walburga’s husband, the latter had seemed to drift away slightly, eyes always milky or washed over, as though her mind was eating away at something.

Regulus wouldn’t lie and say he cared. Because his family had never loved him, so he had never loved them back.

Regulus blinked, and the woman glanced up, eyes narrowing slightly, “What are you doing? Why is your window open?”

She strode forward, placing the letters on his desk as she pushed the window back down. The wind cut off, leaving the room silent and Regulus prayed she wouldn’t notice the missing Apollo, because then there would be questions and he had no lies prepared.

“You said Cissy was expecting me?” Regulus asked, clearing his throat as he grabbed his trench coat, already shoving the black material on.

Walburga sneered slightly as she heard the nickname, grabbing the letters again and walking towards the door, correcting him, “Yes, _Narcissa_ invited you over to Malfoy Manor, saying something couldn’t wait and was rather urgent.”

Regulus followed after her as she stepped out the room, already heading down the stairs. He couldn’t help but spare a glance at Kreacher, who was dusting one of the shelves in the hallway now behind them. Kreacher sensed his gaze and looked at him, eyes wide and watery. He knew what was to come.

The 18-year-old turned back to his mother, skipping the last step. His mother didn’t even spare him a glance, settling down on the dinner table for her daily stare-at-the-wall-in-silence activity.

“I’ll be off then,” Regulus stated, observing the woman. Her steel, cold eyes glanced his way, but she returned them to a particular painting with no more than a huff of confirmation.

Regulus rolled his eyes to himself and opened the door quietly, closing it behind him. He glanced around, stepping from the magic barrier that protected Grimmauld Place, and not a second later was the world around him twisting and turning with a _crack!_

Malfoy Manor stood in front of him, metallic and glossy, emerald underlying into the black stones and walls. Regulus sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets and walking forward briskly, stepping through the holographic gate with a mutter of the spell.

He started walking on the smooth stones under his shoes, shivering slightly. He couldn’t help but worry that maybe, just maybe, this was a trap. A trap from Voldemort, having figured out Regulus’s plan.

And he was walking right into it.

Regulus shoved the thoughts away though, knowing Narcissa, _Cissy_ , would never do that to him. The two were like siblings, closer than he and Sirius could or would ever be. Or maybe that was his mind playing the happy-families-everything-is-fine trick on him again.

Regulus clenched his jaw as he reached the front door, knocking twice even as the hard wood seemed to make his knuckles bruise as swift as frost overtaking grass. He waited a moment, holding his breath, and the door was opened.

He looked up, expecting a person to greet him, but looked down quickly to see the Malfoy’s house-elf known as Tippy looking up at him.

Tippy was often... _hurt_ by Lucious Malfoy, this causing Regulus to not be a real fan of the man. They had never really conversed, and Regulus usually tried to get Narcissa to talk to him about Tippy to which she brushed off.

“Master Regulus! Miss has been expecting you, yes!” Her ears flapped, and Regulus reached down to shake her hand, to which she seemed delighted by.

“How’s your day been, Tippy?” Regulus asked politely, stepping in.

The inside of Malfoy Manor reminded Regulus of heavy, tasteless meals that sunk his stomach, empty seas of void, and birds without feathers. It wasn’t a pleasant place, though he supposed Grimmauld Place wasn’t all that much better.

Tippy tutted, waving for Regulus to take his coat off with rushed hands, “Master shouldn’t be asking such questions. Master should instead be sitting with Miss with a cup of tea, yes! Tippy will prepare the tea, yes, yes!”

And then she was off, busying herself, and Regulus let a breath escape him as he leaned back and forth on his heels. He glanced around, feeling boredom slowly bite at him, but was quickly blown away when he heard steps coming towards him.

Narcissa Malfoy’s head poked out from the open door to his left, and he greeted her with a smile. His cousin held a grin on her face as she waddled forward somewhat, eyes alight with glee.

“Reg! You made it,” She wrapped him in an embrace, and he melted into it, enjoying the hug he so rarely received or gave.

“How are you?” Regulus questioned, glancing down at her stomach.

Narcissa would be at about two months now, pregnant with either a Draco or Estella.

“I’m good, I’m good,” She stated, brushing the question off before walking back into the room, motioning him to follow her.

It was a wide space, a fireplace in the middle of the room, lit and warming the room and making the Manor feel more like a house, a home. Narcissa set herself down on a green chair facing the fire, Regulus doing the same to the closest seat. A small coffee table sat between them, and he glanced, watching as a tray with teacups and tea flowed into the room and was placed upon it, most likely Tippy’s doing.

Regulus quickly poured the tea, glancing to his cousin, who sat and stared into the fire with a distant gaze.

“You sure you’re good?” He quietly murmured, furrowing his eyebrows. She jumped in her chair, and Regulus was oddly reminded of his mother, staring at the wall, still as a statue.

“Yeah..” She cleared her throat, turning to him, “Regulus, I have an important question. Both me and Lucious think it is the right choice, and we just need your confirmation.”

Regulus frowned, scratching the back of his head. He had never liked _important questions_. They made him nervous.

He slowly nodded, waiting for her to continue. Narcissa glanced away again, before back to him. She opened her mouth, and said, “Regulus, how would you feel about being the godfather?”

Oh.

Regulus stared at her for a moment, eyes wide. Surprise flowed through him, because...no. He was probably the most emotionally starved and irresponsible person, like, ever, ( _apart from Sirius_ ), and _Merlin_ , he was going to go off and die tonight. No. How could he be...a godfather? Why him? Of all people? Had Cissy and Lucious _met_ him?

He didn’t even need to think about the question before he said no. Of course not.

“Ci...” Regulus started, ready to let his cousin down. But he faltered, seeing Narcissa’s energetic smile and her enthusiasm...and she _really wants this, wow,_ and he found himself nodding, a smile plastered on his face, heart sinking and sinking and, _oh, Merlin, he is the worst_.

“Really? You will?” She stood up suddenly, squealing like a child, and wrapped her arms around Regulus, who awkwardly pet her back, “Oh, thank Merlin. I was so scared you’d say no, and then Lucious would ask _Avery_ or something.”

She sighed and puffed in relief, stepping back with her hand on Regulus’s shoulder. Regulus let out a forced laugh, though she didn’t seem to see through it, too excited.

“Okay, well, _Merlin, Reg_ , I better go tell Lucious! Have a good night! Tippy will see you out!” And then Narcissa was rushing out of the room, and Regulus spluttered.

“What...what about the _tea_?” There was no answer, “Cissy?”

He sighed, turning back to the fire. He was a horrible person. A terrible excuse for a person. He was literally going to be dead soon, and Narcissa had just asked him to be his godfather, and he had said _yes_ , and now...now....

He buried his head in his hands and took a deep breath. _Breathe._

And now it was time to call Kreacher. Now it was time for the cave, for the Horcrux. For death. For silence.


	2. Being an Obscurial is kind of Difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "@anon asked:  
> Can you plz do the 7th prompt, it sounds like a really good idea. The potential plus the reactions of the black family and perhaps others would be very interesting."  
> \-- after sirius runs away, walburga turns on regulus, aiming her anger on her younger son. regulus turns into an obscurial from the magic trauma.  
> his uncontrollable magic kills his parents and regulus has to run away, the ministry and the order looking for him. the marauders also leave hogwarts similar to harry and his friends in the deathly hallows to look for regulus as well.  
> tw: child abuse

Regulus sat, staring down at his hands.

It was a cold night, not unusual for 12 Grimmauld Place. Frost was drifting over the windows, slow and steady, crafting an art piece of numbing ice and symmetrical patterns. The house stood silent, arching and black, ancient and spine-chilling, hidden behind the ward that made Regulus’s eyes water if he looked at it for too long.

The youngest Black sighed, running a hand down his face, trying to ignore the static noise in his ears and the aches dancing along his body, bruising. Pain was bursting along him thanks to his mother’s previous temper tantrum, but he focussed on the silence instead, even if he hated it. It was so strong it was almost loud, screaming and screeching its’ unholy song. His room was cloaked with the darkness of the night, his blind wide open and allowing the crescent moon to flow through, dust particles dancing in the moonlight.

It was now day three of Sirius being gone. Free.

Ever since that horrible, horrible night, Walburga and Orion Black had been silent. ( _Except for the times they’d shove him, kick him, curse him, hurt him as if it was his fault, and it was because why didn’t he fight or argue back with them? Why didn’t he convince Sirius to say?_ ) Everything had been silent. No yelling and no arguing and no Muggle music coming from Sirius’s room. Just... _silence_.

He wouldn’t lie and say he liked it. Regulus had always liked the silence; _always_ ¸ but ever since he could no longer yearn for it, the calming aura around it had vanished. And now it was just constant.

The sound of footsteps could be heard, creaking up along the near-broken stairs his mother refused to get fixed, and he tensed upon hearing them stop outside his door. _They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re going to hurt me again please no, no, no_ —Regulus held his breath, eyes wide as they bore into his ground, waiting for the door to open and the agony to start and _no, no, no._

But after a heartbeat passed, the 15-year-old turned and glanced to the dim light coming through the bottom of his door, frightened as he saw a shadow standing in it. He anxiously bit his lip, but the shadow disappeared and the footsteps continued down the hallway.

A relieved breath escaped Regulus; and his shoulders untensed. He heard the soft click of a door closing near his room, and he suspected his father had returned to his study for the night to do who-knows-what. His father had been doing it a lot more lately, and Regulus had an obvious suspicion of why.

Sirius.

_Why did he have to leave?_ Regulus thought, not for the first time, and felt misery claw at him. He was sure his brother was happy with his other friends, his _replacements_ , and Regulus hated it. Hated him. Because Sirius wouldn’t feel horrible about leaving his brother, because he had already decided Regulus was a Death Eater when he was sorted into Slytherin.

Regulus hated him. _He wished he hated him_. Sirius deserved it. Sirius left him to a pack of wolves, and yet he still couldn’t hate him.

There was a howl of wind, and Regulus glanced out his window, sighing once again. He forced himself to stand up, his knees cracking slightly in a way a 15-year-olds should definitely _not_ crack like, stepping over to his window. Regulus roughly shoved the blind down, and his room erupted into full darkness.

He quickly pulled out his wand and lit a candle, stretching afterwards. A yawn escaped him, and the black-haired-boy decided it was probably time to go to sleep. Or, in his case, time to lay in bed and _try_ to sleep, ( _hoping desperately his mother wouldn’t take out the aftermath nightmares on him_ ).

Regulus rubbed his eyes and pinched his throat, which was dry and coarse from hardly talking _or_ eating _or_ drinking and well, doing nothing but staying in his room because he was too scared to venture out. But it wasn’t a moment later before he was opening his door, glancing both ways—up the hallway, down the stairs—and retreating towards the latter, knowing it would just be a quick visit for some water and he’d be gone again, no risk involved, hopefully.

His steps were swift and as silent as the rest of the house, and it didn’t take a second before Regulus was at the bottom, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

But he stopped in his tracks, spotting his mother with horror. _She’s waiting, she’s waiting_ for _me—_ but no, she sat in the uncomfortable, stiff chairs near the dining table, and luckily, her straight, still back was to him. His mother’s curly, ebony hair drifted on her shoulders like a wave of messy tides, dirty and dry. Her skin was almost a light source, pale and white as though she was...dead.

Regulus took in a breath, glancing up to the wall in front of her and him. It held a grey-scaled painting of the Black family from years ago, Regulus about the age of eight and the size of a toddler. Sirius, aged nine and already holding a sinister smirk, was standing next to their father, who held a characteristic plain, bored expression. Regulus sat stood next to his mother, imitating his father’s expression with seemingly a _lot_ of effort that present-Regulus could nearly scoff at. Their mother held a disciplined frown, eyebrows arched and face free from the wrinkles she would gain that scarred her like water on paper.

The 15-year-old turned away from the _situation_ , instead squinting against the dark kitchen, trying to see so he could _get out of here and away from her_. Kreacher was most likely long asleep in his cupboard, which Regulus usually tried to cox him out of, even if the house-elf insisted to stay in it. He went to step forward, making sure to be quiet because he didn’t feel like _conversing_ with his obviously grieving mother, who would definitely deny being in grief for losing her firstborn to another family—even if it was her own doing.

He reached up in one of the top shelves for a glass, the static seeming to get louder the more he looked up, which he, of course, disregarded. Regulus grasped one of the glasses, and went to fill it up with a quick wave of his wand, when one of the floorboards creaked from under his feet. _No_.

He turned quickly, feeling frozen inside, and almost jumped from the realisation his mother was already standing & staring at him, eyes drained and hazy. It was nearly like a scene from a ‘Horror movie’ _,_ something a Ravenclaw Muggleborn had been talking about in the hallway that had led to Regulus watching one and being scarred for life.

Regulus stared back, waiting for her to move, waiting for her to speak, to breathe, to hurt him, to do anything. But she just stood, gazing into him and through him, arms limp by her side. Maybe she was actually dead.

His voice was hushed and hoarse as he slowly asked, “Mum?” and he felt his heart sink, his ribs dissolve and his mouth go...fuzzy, because _shit_.

She marched forwards, eyes suddenly awake and slit and, _oh, Merlin, please don’t hurt me i hurt already please don’t, don’t,_ _don’t_ , but her hands were already reaching out, nails clawed and dirty and skin hard and rough and _no, no, no._

Regulus scuttled backwards, the empty cup long forgotten and sitting on the bench, reflecting the moonlight on them. He hit the wall, eyes wide and scared, _he’s so scared,_ and she paused.

And she just... _stared._ Her arms were still outstretched, and her shoulders were shaking and her body was wavering and she looked seconds away from death. Regulus breathed through his nose quickly, feeling like his heart was about to burst from his ribs.

His mothers’ right hand suddenly raised, and he looked away, flinching because _she’s gonna hit me again, she’s gonna hit me again, she’s gonna hit me again_ —but instead, her hand was placed upon his shoulder, a tiny bit too tight and making Regulus look back to her, eyes still wide and round.

“Why are you out of the basement?” She whispered, her voice like a knife trailing over a ribcage, rusty and dark and croaky and raspy and _scary_.

Regulus stared at her, not knowing what to say. He was never...in the basement? His voice was trembling and wobbly as he asked, voice a breath, “W-what?”

She suddenly launched her hand forwarded, and he ducked, her hand slapping against the wall, causing a sound that was like thunder to boom throughout the house. Regulus winced, reaching up to his ears when the sound seemed to accelerate the static that was _still in his eras, why_ , but he didn’t have time to think on it as she leaned forward.

His heart was thumping, and he leaned against the wall, almost smelling her breath as the woman spoke, her voice crazed and loud, causing him to almost whimper, “Answer me when I speak to you! Why are you out of the basement?” She glared at him, turning and glancing at the empty cup he had readied, looking back to Regulus with a snarl, “I said _no_ water, Sirius!”

Regulus blinked, mouth gaping open slightly as alarmed thoughts ran through his head, _Sirius? She...she thinks I’m Sirius?_

The silence seemed to drag for too long for his mother, and she slammed the wall again before violently grabbing his shoulders. He cried out, struggling against her as the woman threw her son to the ground, pupils still slit like a snake and lips up curled like a dog growling.

Regulus let out another yelp as his already bruised form hit the wooden ground, and tried to ignore it al and _move, move, move,_ but his mothers’ wand was already out and pointing and _please, no, mum, please._

”Please don’t.” He ended up whispering, hands covering his face and fear gnawing on him. Regulus didn’t think he could take anymore, his body was already exhausted and his mind was feeble, his limbs sore and in pain and _he definitely should not came down for water because his mother is a psychotic bitch_.

All Walburga did was sneer, and then he was screaming, the Crucio already hitting him and sliding and slithering and sparking and _static, static, static._ He writhed around on the floor, trying to wash it off, get it away, _go away, go away, please._ But it continued and continued, and he didn’t know how long for.

The Crucio made him feel as though all the blood was rushing from his body, getting too warm and then too cold, ringing dancing in his ears and his brain shaking, about to explode. His skin was too tight around his skin, ribs thick and then thin, heart pulsing and drumming.

And then it stopped.

Regulus let out a strangled breath, his body going limp. Usually after a Crucio, he was exhausted and couldn’t even manage a coherent thought, his body numb, but this time...it was different, somehow. He could feel _everything_. The cold wood floor against his hand. The sound of the wind sending shivers down his spine. His mother’s figure making his hair stand. The static, beating and pushing against him, forceful and _shoving, shoving, shoving._

Something was wrong, and something was snapping and _why is his vision going dark, why is he still awake, why is_ ** _the silence so loud_** _—_

Regulus screamed, and his mother’s face twisted into horror, and The Darkness was spinning, flowing like a tornado, and _why is his body gone?_ The shadows became him, and he felt anger, rage, twisted, spitting, _pure rage_ , and he aimed it all at his mother, needing it to go away.

He heard her intake a _scared_ breath, and he couldn’t help but feel glee. She was the scared one now. The Darkness struck forward, and his mother’s scream was cut off, an odd sound of a _slice_ reaching him.

The shadows seemed to grow bigger, and the house creaked, and splintered and _destroy it, kill them, kill them,_ ** _kill them_** _._ Regulus struck forward again, not sure what at, exactly, but satisfaction flowed through him when another slice split through the air.

He then felt surprise when the _entire_ house came down around him, but he felt no remorse. The painting fell. The wooden floorboards groaned. The stairs snapped. His father gasped. The roof shattered.

And then nothing.

The shadows stopped, everything _stopped_ , and he was standing in the rubble awkwardly, legs shaking.

The entirety of 12 Grimmauld Place was crumpled like a paper ball, crushed. Years, centuries, of ancient pride and bloodlines and families; gone. At his hands.

Regulus listened; the static gone. Finally gone. But then he leaned over and vomited, his body wavering and head pounding and realisation and _what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck._

He had just...killed his mother. Most likely killed his father, too, from the collapse of the house. With a...whatever just happened.

Oh.

Kreacher.

The 15-year-old, albeit wobbly and sickly, attempted to walk over the rubble, holding his arms out and heading towards where he hoped the kitchen was.

“Kreacher! Kreacher!” Regulus called; voice nearly gone. Oh, Merlin. Kreacher should have come... _Kreacher should have come._ He gave up after a few more summons, slowly falling to the ground in mindless horror.

“What have I done?” He whispered, feeling as though his mind was escaping him and _why? Why? Why?_ He had just killed his family. Killed. Murdered. _And he felt happy about it._

Regulus jolted up, forcing himself to move. Because he needed to get out of here. The ward was faltering, about to come undone and then the Muggles would see it and then the _Ministry_ would see it and then he’d get sent to _Azkaban_.

That was enough to make Regulus check his wand, which was thankfully fine, and allow himself to be grateful he hadn’t changed into his pyjama’s because then he’d have to run off in them, and...and...and... _stop thinking!_

The 15-year-old, still feeling absolutely horrible, began an odd sprint off the rubble, jumping off what was left of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Regulus didn’t bother glancing back as he started tearing down the street, eyes wide and _scared, scared, scared._

\-------

Sirius Black turned in his bed, pulling the soft blankets up to cover his face, already knowing what was about to happen—as it had been happening over the past three days, and he would expect no less for the fourth.

James Potter’s loud, announcing footsteps rang throughout the Potter’s residence, excited and brash. Sirius groaned, closing his eyes tightly, and not a second later was the door to his room bursting open.

James strode across the room, and his black-haired friend peeked an eye open to glare at him. Jokingly, of course. James pulled the blinds open, and sunlight streaked in.

“Ah! Smell that fresh air, pads!”

“The windows not even bloody open, you ruddy git,” Sirius mumbled, and he heard a snort from James.

The blankets were shoved away from him, and Sirius reached out, trying to hit James who laughed, tilting his head back and grabbing his stomach. “C’mon,” James chuckled, running a hand through his already messy hair, “Mum’s making pancakes!”

“What? _Really_?” Sirius sat up immediately, and yes; he could smell the pancakes—which were a rare thing to ever have in the Black household, as his mother, well, _everyone_ , hated joy and it made him oh so sad. But he _wasn’t_ thinking about them. No. He refused.

James was already heading for the door again, Sirius chasing after him, “Knew that’d get you up! What’d I tell you, Dad?”

The Potter’s house, _home,_ was small, but homely. It was warm, and reminded Sirius of the Gryffindor common room, light beaming through the clean windows, making the room sparkle and twinkle. The mornings were the best parts, when there were voices alive and sing-song birds sang, the sweet smells of Mrs Potters cooking flowing throughout the house along with the ruffle of the newspaper Mr Potter always seemed to have, delivered by the oaky bird they had named Hector after a character from something Sirius couldn’t remember. The afternoons included the crackling fire, the fuzzy socks, and the snacks Mr Potter sneakily handed to them, keeping an eye out for his wife.

The nights included the silent nightmares, but Sirius never mentioned those. He never would, after all this family had done for him.

“James, hush,” Mrs Potter, or Euphemia, scolded lightly, waving her hand slightly. She was listening attentively to the badly red-painted radio on the small dining table, eyes alert and seemingly...shocked.

Fleamont stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder, a solemn look on his face. Sirius felt unease settle in his stomach, James falling silent, both sensing the tense atmosphere from their place in the kitchen doorway.

“What’s wrong?” James mumbled, eyes furrowed and squinting from behind his glasses, and Sirius held his breath. His parents didn’t seem to hear him, and the two friends stepped forward slightly, listening to the radio.

“.... _yes, Tyler, this news is incredibly grave and mysteriou_ s,” A man was saying, “ _is a shock to the whole Wizarding community, and was only reported last night._ ”

“They always take so long to mention what the news _actually_ is,” Fleamont grumbled, and Euphemia shushed him with another gesture of her hand. Sirius gulped, feeling odd.

Another man, who Sirius presumed was Tyler, continued, “ _Indeed, and we had to pull a lot of ties to get this news to you all. The MOM almost didn’t allow it, but, once again, we managed. Again, reported only last night, Ministry officials stated the strange incidents occurring in the streets of Great Britain, specifically the Black’s residence, also known as what we are told—Grimmauld Place.”_

Sirius inhaled a quick breath, scuttling to sit next to Mrs Potter, who scooted her chair back for him to squeeze into the one next to her. James and Sirius shared a look, the latter biting his lips, feeling cold all over.

_“We are told that at approximately eleven pm, GMT, magical neighbours who wished to remain anonymous, reported screaming that they stated had been going on and off for about the last three days—saying they were too scared to properly report it. They also told us of how the protective wards that seemed to guard the Black’s Residence had been faltering a lot, as though magical tampering had been in use.”_ Tyler paused.

Sirius had his head in his hands. Because....no. They _wouldn’t. Surely not. No._

“You said you had a brother, Sirius?” Euphemia whispered, and he glanced at her, her face pale and he realised she had the same exact thought he had.

Before he could reply, the other radio host continued, _“Yes, and you know what’s interesting, Tyler? Sirius Black, the eldest son of two to Walburga and Orion Black, is believed to have disappeared from the place, the neighbours speaking of how they didn’t see the boy venture out of the house these exact three days. However, the couple had another son, as I mentioned, Regulus Black if I remember correctly.”_

_“Yes, that is quite interesting, Tim, but you know what else? Walburga and Orion, as well as their house elf Kreacher, were all reported to be dead; their bodies and house in ruins.”_

“What?” Sirius whispered, “What? They’re...dead?” His eyes were wide, and it felt as though he couldn’t move. Shock was pulsing through him, spinning and fabricating and...how? How were they dead? Why?

The 16-year-old felt as though he experienced every emotion ever in a second, all of them flushing over him; but none were grief, which he chose not to think too much about. Sirius’s eyes didn’t water, his heart didn’t shatter. Did that make him a bad person.

A hand settled upon his shoulder, squeezing, and he glanced up to see James, no emotion on his face. Euphemia had a hand covering her face, eyes staring into the radio, and Fleamont had a frown.

Tyler paused for a moment, letting the information settle in, before Tim took over again, _“Now, these two were a very big and influential couple, known for their blood-supremacy and dark magic tendencies, which could never actually be proven so no arrests were ever made. But the thing is, who, or what, could possibly kill these two incredibly powerful people, and why? Why leave the house in ruins, destroyed? MOM Officials couldn’t find any sign of arson or etcetera in Grimmauld Place, so what exactly destroyed the house?”_

Sirius wrapped his arms around himself, leaning his chin down on the table, listening. The room was incredibly silent, the radio the only sound.

_“Well, I personally don’t think there’s much to theorise, Tim. My guess would be the youngest, Regulus, finally snapped and killed the entirety of those in the house, took it all down with a dark spell, before taking off in a panic. However, I would like to put a disclaimer...”_

The radio trailed off in Sirius’s mind, and he breathed through his nose, every noise around him going numb to his ears. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t think. _Oh, Merlin, this was his fault, why did he leave, everything would be fine if he hadn’t, his fault, his fault, his fault—_

“Sirius!” Hands shook his shoulders wildly, and he inhaled a sharp breath, eyes wide as he snapped back into reality. Sirius waved the hands off, standing up from the chair and running a hand down his face.

James and his parents stood behind him, and he turned, closing his eyes. His friend was already embracing him in a hug, and Sirius tightened, still feeling disoriented.

\-------

Regulus shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, keeping his head down.

He was now in Diagon Alley, and he thanked everything he had ever loved that he was able to get The Trace off of him by using a dark spell Bellatrix had taught him in fourth year, which he had been too scared to use until now. It had required a blood sacrifice, and now he was walking around with a short yet accidentally deep cut on his right palm, still slightly dripping despite the thin wrap of a little tear of his clothes.

Diagon Alley was luckily busy, so he could blend in with ease. But that still meant anyone could see him, so he kept his pace quick, his head ducked and eyes never meeting others.

Regulus tried not to think of how it probably made him look a _lot_ more suspicious, but he was also trying not to think about a lot of things. Particularly the worrying radio hosts that were speaking of the _situation_ , and how soon the Ministry Of Magic would soon be putting posters up, as well as actively looking for him.

He took in a shaky breath, and his thoughts ventured towards the problem at hand. He was so tired he felt he was about to be dead on his feet, and something was...wrong. Regulus’s stomach was cramping up painfully, and every now and then he’d glance at his cut in his hand only to see The Darkness occasionally escaping through the slits of the make-shift-bandage, as though he was slowly transforming back.

Regulus sighed, shifting his weigh to a different leg as his wand prodded into his left side, and beelined for Hogs Head Inn, which he supposed was the best place to go to—since The Leaky Cauldron would most likely be packed with Ministry Officials taking a break, and Hogs Head was...less than preferable for a lot of people.

The 15-year-old slid past a chatty crowd, and the door ringed above him as he pushed his way through. Regulus shoved his hood off, praying that the owner wouldn’t recognise him, and would allow him to take a nap in a chair or something. He just wanted to _sleep_.

Hogs Head was dark, posters covering most of the windows and allowing little light to gleam in, leaving it to have a dark, intimidating vibes. A painting of a girl in front of a natural background was pinned to the wall next to the bar, where circular seats were placed.

A man was sitting on one of the tables in the corners of the extended part of the room, alone and seeming to be reading something. Regulus blinked, a shiver crawling up his spine, and another—abnormally tall—man walked through the door behind the bar.

At first, Regulus could have sworn it was Albus Dumbledore, and he almost sprinted straight out of the Inn. But upon closer look, Regulus realised it _wasn’t,_ just someone who was creepily similar to the Hogwarts Headmaster. Or maybe a brother. He decided he didn’t care; his mood going downwards and he just _did not care and wanted a bloody nap._

The Dumbledore-look-alike narrowed his eyes at him, scanning and observing him. Regulus shuffled his feet, feeling awkward, and the man mumbled out in a gruff tone, “What d’ya need, kid?” He was cleaning a glass with a towel, his cloak a beige and clothes black.

“I...uhm...” Regulus should have rehearsed in his head; he’s an idiot who just killed his parents and house-elf and hasn’t really had any conversations since. He probably looks like a mad person, which he is.

“Need a room?” The man questioned for him, and Regulus blinked, “Water? You speak English, kid?”

Regulus took in a breath and rolled his shoulders back, saying, “I was wondering if your, uhm, _chairs_ are free for...napping?” He sounded like a child, gesturing a limp arm to one of the booths.

“Napping?”

There was silence for a moment, and even the other persons chair creaked as he turned to stare at Regulus, who cleared his throat anxiously. Regulus scratched the back of his neck and nodded quickly.

The bartender sighed, placing the cup and towel down. Regulus flinched at the sound, and only just stopped himself from jumping. _Pathetic._ The man squinted, the other having already turned back to his book, and said, “Kid, just take one of the rooms upstairs. Number four is free,” He glanced away, and Regulus shook his head quickly.

“I don’t have any money.”

“I can tell. On the house, head upstairs whenever.”

Regulus nodded, not having it in him to insist that _no, he was fine with the chairs_. The bartender reached under the bar from his side and then slid a key across the surface, which Regulus grabbed.

He was about to go up the stairs, when the man continued, “And you’re sure you don’t want some water?”

He paused, thinking for a moment and gazed at the man, suddenly feeling untrustworthy. He was being too nice, and Regulus didn’t want to risk drinking the water even if his throat was starting to turn inside out from the dryness.

“I’m alright, thank you.” Regulus mumbled, before quickly going up the stairs without another word. He stepped past the other three doors, turning the key in the fourth one which unlocked with a click.

Upon opening the door, Regulus immediately closed it behind him and locked it, turning back to face the room. He leaned against the door, glancing up at the roof tiredly before back in front of him.

The room was small, with a single bed and a bedside table, and a coffee table as well as two chairs around it. A fairly big candle was already lit, and a window covered by dark mauve blinds was near the coffee table, away from the small flames. Another door was opened, and he assumed it led to the bathroom.

Regulus stepped forward fully, and placed the key on the bedside table before deciding to have a shower before the owner decided to kick him out. He walked over to the bathroom, flicking on the light which produced a dim white glow, and closed the door behind him with another click.

He glanced into the mirror, intending to ignore his reflection, but frowned and looked at himself fully. Regulus’s hair was messy, tussled and scrappy. His face was dirty from what he assumed to be the wreckage of his house, and eyebags were vibrant, showing on his pale skin more obvious than usual.

He sighed, and a second later he was in the shower, letting the warmth wash over him.

\-------

“You’re sure about this?”

Sirius’s voice was a murmur, unsure and rift-like. He stood in James’s doorway, a duffle bag wrapped over his shoulder and at his hip. His friend was packing his own bag, their actions muffled and quiet in the house.

It was now night-time, and insects could be hear chirping outside, as well as the soft breeze dancing through the air every now and then. Sirius had informed James at around noon that he had to leave and find his brother. He had to; all of this was his fault—it didn’t take him long to decide. James had nodded, as though expecting it, and said he would come with him.

_“What? I can’t do that_. You _can’t do that, Prongs. What about your parents?”_

James had shifted uneasily, before a firm look set upon his face, and Sirius knew he wouldn’t be able to change his stubborn friends’ mind.

_“I’m coming with you. Nothing will change my mind; and I know who else will come with us—they’ve already sent letters, Siri.”_

_“Wait, really? Fuck, you guys are my best mates, y’know that, right?”_

_“Yeah, I know. Don’t get sappy, pads.”_

But now Sirius was unsure. He didn’t want to ruin their lives like this. Remus and Peter were planning to meet them at a Muggle café a few blocks away, Remus having spoke of the Knight Bus. They must really want to help, because both peter and Remus _hated_ the Knight Bus, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel _sappy_.

James sighed, looking over his shoulder with raised eyebrows as he said, “Yes. Now go put your shoes on.”

Sirius lifted his hands, waving them slightly and stepped away. He silently walked over to the front door where the shoes were, footsteps barely a noise—a trick he had learnt from watching Regulus do it in third year.

He grabbed his black shoes and shoved them on, putting his hoodie on as well before ducking the duffle bag back over his head. The duffle bag was filled with mainly warm clothes, as well as some pairs of shoes and some food. Sirius had also packed in some matches, he and James deciding to keep magic minimal because of The Trace.

It wasn’t a moment later before James was putting his own shoes on beside him, the two silent. Sirius glanced out the small window on the door before turning back to his friend, whispering, “Ready?”

James didn’t reply, and Sirius glanced at him, wondering if he had changed his mind. But he was now flicking through one of the cupboards near the kitchen doorway, and Sirius blinked with a, _how the hell did he get over there so quickly?_

“Where’d she put it?” James mumbled.

“What’re you doing?”

James lifted a hand, gesturing at him to wait a moment, and he did. His friend then reached into the cupboard, and pulled out the radio Mrs Potter had put away.

“Got it!” James whispered, and walked back over to him, putting it in his own duffle bag. Sirius blinked, frowning, and James elaborated, “It’ll help us. Maybe they’ll report if there’s been any sightings of Regulus.”

Sirius nodded, but another frown took over his face and he glanced down before back up, “What if Remus, y’know, has a full moon? What will we do?”

James was silent for a moment before he replied, “Well, honestly? I think it’s better for us to actually be away, and I think it’ll be much easier than good ol’ Hoggywarts. Let’s get going, all right? Everything will work out.”

Sirius sighed stiffly, and the two exited the house, closing the door softly behind them. Sirius was going to start walking straight away, but he turned when James didn’t follow. His friend was gazing up at his house, no emotion on his face, disguised by the darkness.

“Prongs?” Sirius asked, tilting back and forwards on his heels, not knowing what to say.

James seemed to snap out of his trance, and started to follow, walking up beside Sirius, “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence for a minute, the crunching of the gravel loud under their feet when Sirius suddenly said, “James?” his voice was distant; scared.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do if we don’t find him,” He whispered, glancing around wildly, “It’s...it’s my fault. I should have been there. I should have...done something. Anything,” He screwed up his nose, angry at himself for being such an idiot.

James stopped, holding his hand out, “Hey. Stop that. You couldn’t have known, Sirius,” He wrapped Sirius in a hug, and repeated himself, “You couldn’t have known.”

\-------

Regulus sat up in his bed, arms wrapped around his knees as he breathed crackly, eyes closed tightly.

He had tried, _Merlin,_ he had tried. But he just couldn’t sleep. It was like any time he tried to do so, nightmares would begin, the screaming, the static, the ringing. The 15-year-old roughly rubbed his eyes, a shiver passing through him with the distant questions. _Why did you kill Kreacher? Idiot. Idiot. Why did you kill_ them _? Why? Why? How?_

He shook his head, but winced from the sharp pain. Regulus’s body was aching constantly, and he was sure sleep would aid; but he just _couldn’t_. He was too scared. _Pathetic._ He sighed, and glanced down at his pale arms, which had contrasting purple bruises forming. He couldn’t even remember what from, but he quickly shoved on his cloak, standing up.

Regulus snatched up his wand, running his hand along his hair.

_Might as well get out of here,_ he thought, _no point staying if I’m not going to sleep._

He headed for the door, and slowly creaked it open. Regulus bit his lip and put his hood up, standing in the shadows and practically becoming invisible. He was about to head down the stairs, but he froze, leaning against the wall as he heard the door ring from below.

“Gentlemen,” The bartender greeted them, “What can I help you with?”

Regulus glanced up at the roof, arms wrapping around himself on instinct.

There was a grunt of recognition, “Aberforth. How’s business? The season treating you well?”

“You didn’t come here for small talk, Anderson. What’s the problem?”

The 15-year-old listened as a harsh chuckle rang from downstairs, and he bit his lip as the man— _Anderson_ —spoke, “You haven’t changed a bit. Me and my men were ordered by the Minister to search through Diagon Alley, as someone sighted our little runaway.”

Regulus slowly drifted his hand down to his wand. How was he going to get out of this?

“Who sighted him?”

“Minister business, you know that Aberforth.”

The black-haired-boy tightened his grip on his wand, and slid it out of his coats inside pocket, spinning it in his left hand, eyeing the stairs next to him, cautious of those venturing up it.

Aberforth spoke again after a pause, “I haven’t seen anything, and I don’t need your men coming in here and trampling over everything and scarin’ the customers off.” Regulus wondered why the man would protect him, if he knew who he was, or if he was telling the truth and indeed didn’t realise Regulus was the _runaway._

There was a scoff and couple of cackles, “What customers, friend? I don’t see _one_ person here.”

Regulus inhaled a sharp, silent breath. _Ouch._

The bar below seemed to creak slightly, as if Aberforth was leaning forward, and his voice was said through teeth as he stated, “Then who you’re looking for isn’t here. Now get out of my Inn, _friend_.”

There was another pause, and the door ringed again, Regulus hearing the shuffling feet.

“We’ll be back, Aberforth.” And then the door was slammed shut.

He allowed himself to breathe, shoulders sagging in relief, but it didn’t last for too long. Who had sighted him? Would the Ministry Officials come back, and actually find him? Was Aberforth safe?

He couldn’t really go downstairs now, because of the risk of Aberforth giving him up, recognising him or either regretting the decision to push away the Ministry Officials.

Regulus breathed deeply, and stepped back into his room. He closed the door with a small _click_ and tried to come up with a plan. He had no where to go, no one to trust.

He was 15. Why was this happening? _What is wrong with you?_

Regulus glanced to the blinds, and decided it was his best bet—escape through the window, and hope that there was a stack of pillows waiting for him at the bottom. And then he could leave Diagon Alley before tomorrow.

The blinds opened with a small scuttle, and he glanced out, observing the night. He assumed most of those in Diagon Alley were at The Leaky Cauldron, and he could only spot a few littered shadows walking around. The streets were filled with lanterns that glowed orange and hummed a warm-looking aura, casting twilight on the ground. Regulus slid the window open, flicking his wand for his rooms’ candle to go out, which it did, leaving darkness in front, behind and within him.

He glanced to the ground, which was only a small bit down, and thanked himself for being a Seeker; because he was sure the jump would be no trouble with his added agility. He shoved his wand away and glanced back to the door before preparing.

Regulus put his left leg through the window first, making sure his cloak wasn’t caught on anything and then pushing his right one through. He then held onto the window, staring down at the ground before taking in a breath and letting go.

He slid down to the ground silently, landing softly on his tiptoes—a trick Narcissa had taught him in second year, the girl saying none of her sisters wanted to be a ballerina with her so he complied, much to his father’s horror.

Regulus let out his breath, and made sure his hood was secure, wand now in his hand again, hidden away up his sleeve.

The trek to the exit of Diagon Alley was slow, Regulus having to constantly look over his shoulder, worried every noise meant someone was following him. His footsteps were annoyingly wonky and quite loud because of his stress going up every second because what if someone found him? What if they hurt him? _What if he killed them? Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatif—_

There was a small sound of what sounded like a stick snapping behind him, and Regulus turned, eyes wide.

But nothing was there.

He twisted back to his path, continuing in a faster pace, ignoring the aches in his sore legs and the part of him that _wanted to sleep, needed to sleep, please_ —but he snapped at it, slightly freaked out and slightly scared and slightly paranoid.

Was it the Ministry? Order of The Phoenix? _Merlin,_ The Death Eaters? Regulus breathed through his nose, heart beginning to hammer and hair beginning to stand up because _something was wrong._

Anxiety coursed through him, and his dry throat got course and rough, his vision starting to get hazy around the corners. Regulus glanced over his shoulder again, again, again, _again, again, again—_

And then he slammed straight into a figure, causing him to recoil with a gasp and jolt. He stepped backwards, mind reeling and trying to escape him, and something was _forming, forming, push it down, go away, goawaygoawaygoaway_ , and he stared at the person in front of him.

It was a tall, lanky man with gangly limbs and ghostly-like skin, one eye pure white and pupil transparent. He had blonde, messy hair and a frown on his wrinkly face, nose twisted slightly. The man stared down at Regulus, who gazed straight at the logo on his navy suit. _MOM._

Regulus looked up, meeting eyes...eye...with the man, and he realised what was about to happen.

“Regulus Arcturus Black, son of Walburga and Orion Black and residence of Grimmauld Place, you are—”

The 15-year-old shoved him, causing him to fall to the ground. Regulus snatched the chance and took off, cloak spiralling in the wind and wand held tightly in his left hand. He heard the grunts and shouts of many others, and focussed on exiting Diagon Alley. Why was he so stupid? Why did he insist on _sleeping_?

He could see the magic wall in front of him., and headed towards it, making sure to run in zigzags so he couldn’t get hit with any _stupefy’s_...or _other_ spells.

“Get that kid!” Yelled a man, and his heart thundered in his ears, Regulus thanking himself yet again for being a Seeker and athletic enough to sprint for lengthy periods of time.

More and more lanterns flickered on around him, and he saw two figures burst out of The Leaky Cauldron, odd sort of technology wrapped around their heads. Regulus didn’t have slightly any time to spend on figuring out what that was exactly about, and instead leaped over a flower display cart to dodge a crowd leaving a Theatre.

“Someone stop him!” A woman roared and Regulus stopped in his tracks as a few people ahead of him turned to stare, eyes wide as they all turned to each other.

His breaths came out in quick gasps as he puffed, trying to think. There were no routes, all being blocked by random people not knowing how to help otherwise.

Regulus turned around to face what seemed to be _eight_ Ministry Of Magic members, all stepping forward and looking to each other, wands lowering. He felt the static slowly gliding towards him, and he grit his jaw, nostrils flaring. He raised his wand.

“We don’t wish to harm you, kid,” The man he had run into said, stepping forwards. His voice had the same croak that the Andersons’ person had, so Regulus assumed they were most likely the same person.

Regulus didn’t say anything, just pointed his wand forward again, causing Anderson to stop his advances forward. He glanced over his shoulder quickly, to check if any of the other people were going to hit him with a spell with his back turned. None of them had their wands raised though, so he looked back to the Ministry Officials.

Anderson cleared his throat, “Kid, just come with us and we can _help_ you. We just want to know what happened with your parents,” His voice was gentle, like a soft wave lapping over the sand on a beach. But Regulus wouldn’t fall for it; he knew these people were just going to dissect him and toss him away and make the _problem_ go away and everything would be swept under a rug and _the static, the static, why’s it getting louder? Not here, not now._

“Kid—” a woman started, and Regulus’s lips curled upward.

“Call me kid one more _fucking_ time,” He stepped forward, and Anderson raised his hands, the woman letting out a huff. A light flickered, and Regulus closed his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to get The Darkness away.

“Regulus, please put the wand down. We just want to talk to you,” Anderson tried again, and he felt his arm waver—but not because he wanted to put his wand down. The man seemed to see it as that though, and stepped forward again, which made Regulus flinch. His leg shook slightly, as if about to give up on him because he was so, so, so tired and _please let me sleep_.

Another man with auburn hair, younger this time, stepped forward, eyes furrowed, “You’re hurt?”

Regulus kept quiet, not knowing what to see. He clenched his jaw tightly as another wave of exhaustion drifted over him, gradual and painful; mixed with the agony crashing upon his body. He closed his eyes, suppressing a wince, and dropped his wand, the item dropping to the ground.

His head swam, and he grasped the side of his head, hood already down. He could feel blood dripping from his nose, his pulse quickening, The Darkness swimming towards him, the sounds of the flickering lights, and the Static.

“ _Regulus_?” A voice, distant; foggy. Not sure. Quiet.

“ _Regulus_?” Distant. Foggy. Quiet. Where? Gone.

The Darkness. Jolting. _Wake up. Their casting the spell._

He snapped his eyes open, and turned around to fully face the people behind him, eyes narrowed and vicious and _hurt them. Hurt them. Kill them._ He thrusted his hand forward, and power flew from him, through his veins, through his blood.

The red, glowing _stupefy_ spell someone had casted floated in the air, stopped in it’s path by the power coming from Regulus’s hand. His hand. The Darkness floated below it, seeping up from the ground. Everyone stared in horrified, stunned silence and Regulus tilted his head up, a dark smile creeping up his face.

He then forced the _stupefy_ back, the spell launching backwards and fling into those in front of him, causing a few people to fly back, unconscious, from the effects of the spell. Some people gasped, others yelled and screamed in surprise, most scuttling to get away from him.

And he _loved_ it. The Darkness started to dance around him, still thin but slowly becoming thick.

Regulus turned back to the Ministry Of Magic, who all had their wands out. The 15-year-old held up his hands, slowly leaning down to pick his own wand up, pocketing it when they all stared.

“I thought,” Regulus drawled, feeling drunk on the power. It was different this time, he wasn’t scared of it; it was him. He continued, “you wanted to _talk_.”

Anderson was gazing at him, “That was before that, Regulus. Turn yourself in, before we make you.”

_He’s threatening us. Kill him. Kill them all._ All of them.

Regulus narrowed his eyes, glancing down to his feet and shuffling them. He then tilted his head back and laughed loudly, his dark chuckle echoing throughout Diagon Alley. The MOM Members watched in silence, and he could nearly smell the unease _stinking_ off of them.

And then he stated simply, “Funny,” before fully stepping into The Darkness, welcoming it. The Darkness attached itself to him, and it spun, spun, spun, flying outwards with a hissing, static noise.

The Darkness around him was much bigger than before, and he watched as it drifted towards the Ministry Officials, who’s faces had all dropped, staring up into the shadows. Some parts of the buildings around him were destroyed, crushed by the thick oblivion, and Regulus pushed towards Anderson and the other seven, feeling... _eager_ , and then realisation and then _no, no, no, don’t kill them, wait—_

He could hear them all die at the same time.

The crushing, the swallowed screams, the silence that followed. 

The Darkness surged forward, heading towards the running crowds and those that tried to be brave and hit him with spells that did nothing but dissolve. Regulus tried to get it to stop, to stop, _stop, stop, please, Merlin, no!_

And he did. The Darkness halted, and he could feel the gazes of the terrified— _they’re scared of us, they’re scared of us_ —people, all waiting for the death they thought to be inevitable.

_Stop,_ Regulus thought, whispered, screamed, and the shadows dissolved around him.

He fell to the ground, to his knees, the static spitting in his ears, on and off, on and off, on and off. He covered his ears, wincing with closed eyes and tried to breathe through his clogged throat.

Merlin, he had just killed more people. Why? _Why?_

Regulus opened his eyes and stared at the people in front of him, all devastated and he couldn’t help but notice the dust in their hair, drifting throughout the air—most likely from the minimal broken parts of the two buildings closest to them.

The 15-year-old, standing quickly with his numb legs, turned away from everyone, and he ran.

_You’re just like the rest of them!_ Like a coward.

_You’re the reason they hate me!_ Like a coward.

_Why aren’t you in the basement? Answer me when I speak to you!_ Like a coward.

He tumbled mindlessly through the barrier, waving his wand to do so as tears strung at the edges of his eyes, threatening to erupt. A cough burst from him, and more continued to do so as he ran and ran and ran.

Why? Why? Why? Pathetic. Coward. Snake. _Like the rest of them!_ Kill them. Heart in his throat, mouth the feeling of static.

Regulus collapsed in the middle of the street, breaths coming out choked and sobs tearing from him. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t care, he didn’t...he couldn’t...nothing was right. Everything was wrong. Why? Why him?

There were probably Muggles staring at him, but he didn’t care as cries racked and shook throughout his body for the first time in years. He had to assume no one was around him, as no questions were asked, no footsteps were heard but he couldn’t be sure, as it felt like his mind was dissolving, and his body was about to seize up and just shut down for him if he didn’t sleep.

Regulus was about to let the tears and darkness guide him to the unconsciousness, but he stilled, frozen and numb in his sobs as he heard a trembling intake of breath.

He looked up, and felt his eyes widen.

Sirius stared down at him, face pale and lips parted.

\-------

**Before.**

Sirius stepped into the café, James holding the door open as the bell above them rung.

“Such a gentlemen,” Sirius complimented James, who nodded with a puffed-out chest.

“Only for you, pads,” James slunk a lazy arm around Sirius, and they made their way over to where Remus and Peter were already wating. Remus was gesturing his hands down stiffly, as though trying to explain something to Peter, who stared at him with glazed over eyes, mouth slightly opened.

They could hear Remus huff as they got closer, “Close your mouth, Pete. A fly is gonna bloody go in,”

Peter immediately closed his mouth and jolted slightly, before his eyes lightened as he spotted their two other companions, “Oi! Look what the cats dragged in!”

Sirius squinted at the boy, and James laughed, “I’d like to see a cat try and drag a dog _and_ a stag,” James settled in next to Peter, while Sirius took a seat in the booth next to Remus, who scooted over for him. They both put their duffle bags near the other two already by their booth.

“Guys,” Sirius mumbled as Peter went to argue with James, “can we focus? Please?”

The table fell silent. Most of them were used to Sirius being the one told to focus, and Peter shuffled in his seat, glancing down. James tried to make eye contact with Sirius, who avoided his gaze and bit his lip.

He turned to glance at Remus as the boy put a scarred hand on his shoulder, saying softly, “I’m sorry, Sirius.”

“Don’t be,” Sirius scoffed, “I hated them anyway.”

“I know. I’m not talking about your parents.” Remus mumbled, and Sirius breathed shakily, “We’ll find him, pads. We just need a plan.” Remus then turned to face the other two, pulling his hand off Sirius’s shoulder, who glanced up as well.

“What _is_ our plan, exactly?” Peter asked, and Sirius shrugged. James suddenly reached into his duffle bag, pulling out the red radio and Peter questioned again, “What’s that?”

“Radio, dear Petey,” James informed him, sticking the antenna up fully and flicking between the channels.

Peter sighed, “I know, dear Jamie. I meant, like, what’s it gonna help with?”

James didn’t reply, and Sirius watched as he flicked to the familiar channel they had on for a few minutes during their walk before deciding they didn’t want to waste the power and putting it away. Remus leaned forward as James put the volume up, glancing around to make sure no Muggle workers were near. There was another figure over by another table, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel they were familiar, but he brushed it off.

“... _is live! This is live!_ ” A hushed voice of who Sirius assumed was Tyler spoke quickly, voices in the background, “ _I’m at The Leaky Cauldron, The Leaky Cauldron, and I’ve spotted him! The runaway, Regulus Black! He just ran pass The Leaky Cauldron! I’m outside the door right now, watching him!”_

“What?” Sirius mumbled, and James and he shared a look.

“ _I can....I’m not sure...how..._ ” the radio suddenly cut off, trailing into static and James hit the thing.

“Seriously? Piece of freaking junk!” James ran a hand down his face, and Sirius breathed stiffly, nodding to himself.

“We’ve got our first clue, guys, come on!” Sirius was already standing, and the others eyes widened, “Diagon Alley! C’mon, we can get the Knight Bus!” He hurried away from his friends, desperate to save his brother, and he heard Remus stutter out a thanks to the employees and James shoes squeak on the tiles and Peter’s grunts.

Sirius rushed out the shop, and stood by the road, sticking his wand out. His friends rushed out, all halting beside him.

“We’re sure about this?” Remus suddenly whispered, and Sirius glanced at him before back to the road, skin itching.

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked in a murmur, and he noticed James and Remus share a look.

Remus then said after a moment of anxious pausing, “Sirius...have you considered that Regulus could actually be a murderer and extremely dangerous?”

“I...” Sirius turned to face his friend, eyebrows furrowed, when a purple flash suddenly stopped next to them, causing him to yell, “Gah!”

James patted his shoulder, and he scowled at him, causing James to snicker.

“Well, come on! We don’t have all night!” A voice suddenly exclaimed, and Sirius looked up to see a man with white hair and beard gazing down at them from the open door.

Sirius shared another look with his friends before they all tried to barge on at once, shoving each other and stumbling in.

The inside of the Knight Bus was skinny, but tall because of the three stories. A few seats and beds were layered around, but Sirius didn’t trust them to stay in place so he quickly took hold of the metal poles by the window, glancing to his friends.

“Where to?” The man asked, voice cracking and slightly high pitched.

“Diagon Alley,” They all stated at the same time, Peter adding in a small, “Please.”

The man nodded, and Remus shoved their bags up in the top shelves before attaching himself to another pole, James and Peter huddling up to separate ones as well. Sirius took in a deep breath and the man waved his hand to the front of the bus, and a second later, they were off.

The speed of the bus was incredible, and it felt like his stomach was dropping from his body, brain spinning circles as the bus turned corners and sped pass Muggles that had no idea what was happening. His shaky vision made his friends seem to twirl like figurines, bodies going two dimensional and his sight turning to that of a fish lens. Sirius gasped, clinging tighter to the bar and closing his eyes, praying to Merlin they would reach their destination soon.

Peter started screaming, and Sirius couldn’t hold back his wobbly laugh, which he immediately regretted. He opened his eyes and saw James slam a hand over Peter’s mouth, muffling the screams, the black-haired-boy holding onto his own pole with closed eyes.

Remus was silent, staring at the ground, and Sirius almost slipped over at a sudden turn.

“Bloody fucking hell!” James yelled, taking his hand from Peter when the boy seemed to accidentally bite into it.

“ _Language_!” The man yelled from the front, and Sirius let out another barking laugh. They swerved another corner, the action causing Sirius to shut up—and then they halted suddenly, which forced the marauders to lurch forward, the poles not really helping.

James toppled over on top of Sirius, who banged into Peter and made the boy hit one of the beds, Remus luckily falling in his own space.

“Alright, alright, thirteen sickles boys,” The man stepped forward, and Sirius wondered how he walked so casually as thought they hadn’t just rode on a death machine.

Sirius reached into his zipped-up pockets, pulling out a ziplock baggie with a few pieces of currency James had insisted on having, placing the bag in the man’s hand, who’s eyes widened at the quantity.

Sirius waved off the thanks he was about to receive, and the lot of them left quickly, grabbing their bags. Sirius led them through the outskirts of the streets before the Diagon Alley barrier, eyes observing every inch. It was quiet; almost too quiet.

The Muggle shops were all long closed around them, and only a few actual people could be seen, some looking drunk and tipsy, eyes distant and feet wobbly. Sirius held his breath as he walked, pace swift as his friends rushed behind him, obviously finding it hard to keep up with their friend.

“Sirius, slow down—” Remus started, but he had already stopped, heart in his throat.

A shape was crouched over in the middle of the street ahead, sobs harshly erupting from their body, and they were almost invisible; small and curled up, shadows seeming to dance around the figure. He felt his lips part, as though his face was falling, and slowly stepped forward, James taking in a sharp breath.

It didn’t take another few steps to realise the person was whispering manically, voice dark and cracked and croaky; dry and drifting, “Why? Why? Why?” It was obviously a boy, and sounded so sad and dead that Sirius almost cried too. Because it was Regulus. His baby brother, who he had oh so obviously failed to protect.

And then his face snapped up, eyes wide and distrusting and horrified and recognising him.

“Sirius?” Regulus whispered.

\-------

The name escaped his mouth before he could think.

Regulus’s temple was pounding against his skull, and he pulled a hand up to cover his head, and he observed the group in front of him. The Marauders. The _brother-stealing-assholes, kill them, kill them, KILL THEM—_

James Potter. Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew. Remus had his wand out slightly, a though he had been alarmed by him moving his hand. Regulus narrowed his eyes, his vision still shaking in the corner of his eyes.

“Regulus?” Sirius whispered back, and his brother stepped forward, a hesitance glance in his eyes as he...scanned him over. Regulus felt a spark of something flow through him. _How dare he. How dare he, come here. He’s here. He’s here. Hurt him. Kill them._ He shoved it down, closing his eyes tightly and breathing through his nose.

The Darkness seemed to have another thing to be angry about, and it didn’t sound or feel like it enjoyed how Regulus had ‘controlled’ it before. He opened his eyes, and flinched from how close Sirius suddenly was, and he was raising his hand, and _he was gonna hurt him, slap him, stop._

Regulus scuttled backwards, expecting his brother to hit him, Sirius and his friends watching with wide eyes.

“W-what’s wrong? What _happened_?” Sirius asked, and his voice seemed to carry over the soft breeze, distant and foggy, fading. The Darkness was swarming, quicker this time, and Regulus noticed Remus’s anxious glance. “Regulus? Are you alright?”

Sirius stepped forward, again, and Regulus snatched his wand out, aiming it at his brother, snarling, “Get the _fuck_ away from me.”

His brother held his hands up, stepping away and stared at him, no emotion his face. There was silence, Regulus’s hand shaking, before Sirius murmured, “What did they _do,_ Reg?”

Reg. _Kill him._ The Darkness jumped upon him, and he felt himself leaning into it when there was a sudden _crack!,_ causing them all to jolt and turn to the noise.

Albus Dumbledore stepped from the shadows, as well as some others trailing out with him. Professor McGonagall. Mad-Eye Moody. Other, unrecognisable people, two with bright red hair that stood out, identical and young.

Regulus stared at them, and The Darkness hummed around him, softly floating in the air around him. _KILL THEM. KILL THEM. KILL THEM._ He breathed heavily, slowly dragging his gaze over to Sirius. He must have called them here. He wants Regulus to get captured. He wanted this. He wanted this. His fault, his fault, his fault.

_My fault. I’m sorry._

“Regulus Black?” Dumbledore said, starting in his wise voice that Regulus was about to _rip to shreds._ The old man was cut off by the sudden flicking lights around them, and the street erupted into darkness.

Kill them.

Regulus stood up, the energy from the lights flowing through him, and marched towards his brother, eyes narrowed into slits and jaw set. Sirius mouth slowly gaped, eyes widening as The Darkness grew with each step, and the 15-year-old was about to fully transform when something hit his chest.

He stopped, staring down at his chest before looking up, meeting eyes with Remus.

_Stupefy. Red._

Regulus landed to the ground before he could think, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send another request to me at @regulusprompts on tumblr !!  
> or feel free to check out my main, @lacuniaa


	3. Exploding Brains & Co.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "@anon asked:   
> can you do prompt 15?"  
> \-- Regulus is put in a safe house after the cave, having given the Horcrux to Dumbledore. the safehouse is then opened to a few more families with children, but he is not trusted by the parents.  
> the Order suddenly have to go on a mission, but it turns out it was a distraction and the safe house is attacked by the Death Eaters. Regulus is forced to protect the families from the Death Eaters all by himself—whether it be with his magic or the kitchen knife.  
> (he should be super-duper overpowered in this and a literal BAMF.)

Lightning sparked across the sky, forking and spiked. Regulus glanced out the window, up to the night sky, with unfocused eyes. His face, left wrist and neck were all numb; numb from the scratches and bruises and scars the Inferi had left. He hadn’t really realised how _truly_ close to death he had been in the cave until he had looked in the mirror, only to see a ring of purple bruises around his neck, from the choking hold of the undead. Regulus’s face was also littered with vertical, thin scratches that would never heal properly, leaving him permanently scarred—similar to Lupins’ face, nearly. His left arm, where the Dark Mark poisoned his skin, was also similar to his face, scratched and almost cut open from the Inferi’s fingernails.

After surviving the cave, Regulus had ran with the locket, the _Horcrux,_ his heart in his throat, and despite his brain that said _no, no, no, I can’t trust him,_ the 18-year-old had landed on Hogwarts’s doorstep, vision blinded by the blood dripping down his face. Dumbledore had appeared before him, reaching down, down, down and Regulus had handed the Horcrux, on the verge of death; dying, dying, dying.

And now he sat, in the safe house he had been shoved into, Professor McGonagall insisting that the Death Eaters would be after him. Regulus didn’t exactly know where he was, just that he was not welcome at all. Three other families lived in the safe house, children always racing around, their parents usually giving him dark looks that made him hide in his temporary room that gave him no comfort at all.

Regulus knew that he was going to be kicked out as soon as he wasn’t important to Dumbledore, most likely thrown to the Ministry and Azkaban. So, he prepared himself. A duffle-bag with clothes and a small amount of money stored in it was hidden under his bed, ready for him to snatch and run when the time came. Regulus just didn’t, per se, have anywhere to _go_. Because he couldn’t run to his dead parents, couldn’t run to his Death Eater friends, and he certainly couldn’t run to _Sirius._

His brother hated him. He could see it in the glance Sirius had sent his way before storming out of the safe house, not believing his little brother had _departed_ from the Death Eaters. The cult. Regulus had yet to commune with his brother, though he wasn’t sure the time would ever come.

Another strike of lightning flashed, and Regulus sighed, running a hand through his hair before sliding off from his perch. His room had a circular window above the bedhead, and Regulus usually settled into the round windowsill, gazing outside and avoiding the other inhabitants in the house.

The first family was the Brill family, which concluded of a mother, Alina, and father, Fernando, and their three children. He didn’t bother himself with learning the names of the kids, even if the youngest—a girl with wonky glasses and a bright smile—followed him around whenever he left his room, always curious and watching. She honestly freaked Regulus out, and he would silently thank Alina when she would come and scowl before taking the girl away.

The second family consisted of Mathilda Seymour and her two twin children, who caused the most trouble in the house, mischief always upon their hands as well as accidental magic. They reminded Regulus of his younger-self and Sirius, only to realise they would make his brother think of him and James—the _better_ brother, the replacement.

The third family was a man and his son—Geraldine Vasquez and sixteen-year-old Julius. Geraldine was a drunk and seemed to be out of touch with reality. Regulus didn’t know anything of Julius, just that he had terrible anger issues and sent looks at Regulus that burned with hatred.

Actually, he didn’t know anything of any of the families, just that they weren’t soldiers, weren’t made for the war that weighed on all their shoulders.

Regulus let out another sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling his stomach rumble. He hadn’t been eating lately, mostly due to being too... _cautious_...of running into the others, as well as the fact his appetite was shit—but it seemed he had reached his limit on not eating, which he supposed was nearly three days now.

The 18-year-old stepped forward, making sure he had his wand on him—the only small comfort he truly had—before he walked out of his room. Regulus could hear the storm outside; the angry wind, the boisterous thunder, the cracks of lightning, and squinted against the darkness of the house.

There was a candle in the hallway, dim and dark, lighting up the second floor which held all the bedrooms. The bottom floor had the kitchen and the living room, and there were three bathrooms spread throughout the house. He held his breath as he began walking towards the stairs, his steps silent as he avoided the certain floorboards that creaked. Regulus knew he was probably being incredibly sketchy with his near invisibleness, but it was a necessity.

But he froze the second his foot met the steps, because _oh._

Voices hit him—a _lot_ of voices—and, _fuck, fuck, fuck_ , _why didn’t I hear them before?_ Shock went through him, nearly rattling his body because the Order obviously still didn’t trust him—even if he had nearly died for their benefit only slightly in mind—and most likely put a fucking _Muffliato_ charm around the bottom floor.

Regulus bit his lip, leaning against the wall, eyes closing in focus as he eavesdropped.

“Macon! Stop that at once!” Mathilda was snapping, and a laugh riled throughout the kitchen.

Dumbledore’s amused voice rose up over the laughter, “It is quite alright, dear Mathilda. Youngsters do often get some form of entertainment from my beard,” another howl of hilarity came from that, and a familiar voice mumbled a joke, causing Regulus’s heart to sink.

Sirius was down there; and most likely that meant the other Marauders, too. He wouldn’t want to assume the rest of the Order wasn’t down there as well. Regulus put his mouth into the crook of his elbows, opening his eyes and staring at the wall opposite to him.

Silence went over the room as the laughter halted, and one of the adults cleared their throat, quietly saying, “Why don’t you take the children to the loungeroom, Julius? I’m sure the Order isn’t just here for dinner.”

There was a grunt, and then Regulus heard a bunch of running footsteps rush away, the kids obviously excited to go play or something. The 18-year-old ran his tongue over his teeth, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach.

“So, what are you truly here for, Dumbledore?” A gruff voice asked, which Regulus believed belonged to Geraldine, “Has something happened?”

A pause overtook the room before the Headmaster answered, “I had insisted on coming here alone today, but the other members of the Order had already made up their minds about visiting...yes, I was supposed to arrive alone and speak with Master Regulus.”

His eyes widened. This must be the day he’s abandoned again.

“Ah, and of course, while I’m on this train of thought, where is our young runaway?” No one spoke for a moment, and Regulus heard someone cough awkwardly.

“We...er...” Fernando murmured, “we haven’t seen the boy in a few days. I suppose he’s been in his room.”

“What? What’s he been doing?” Sirius said suddenly, voice quick and Regulus almost went down there and snarled at him. _Almost_.

There was another pause, and Regulus could imagine Fernando and Alina sharing a look before answering, “Don’t know.”

“He hasn’t even come down to eat?” James Potters’ voice snuck in, inquisitive, and Regulus clenched his jaw.

Mathilda spoke up again, “No. I think he’s been...I don’t...yeah, I don’t know. I haven’t seen him eat...or do anything, really. I think he’s... _sad_.”

Regulus scowled to himself. He wasn’t fucking _sad_. Black’s do not get ‘sad’. That’s pathetic. Weak. Feeble.

Sirius seemed to have the same thought, because he scoffed, “Regulus? Emotions? Yeah...no. I bet the pricks’ just doing some bloody dark magic or something. Or he’s just scared.”

The 18-year-old curled in on himself, and he closed his eye in silent fury. He hated Sirius so, _so_ much. He thought he knew everything about Regulus; thought he could see all his thoughts with just a glance, see his motives and emotions with no more than an observation. He was wrong. Sirius didn’t know one _single_ fucking thing about Regulus.

“Sirius,” James muttered out, scolding his friend for saying something Regulus didn’t hear.

There was a sharp intake of breath, “No, Prongs. He’s definitely into some dark shit, the bloody coward. I know him, the way he lurks. I bet he’s even listening to us right now.”

 _Shit, he_ does _know me._

Regulus felt his eyes widen, and he quickly stood up, because _shit, shit, shit, he’s gonna find me here and think I’m the next Voldemort or something,_ and he was going to step backwards and go back to his room, when he fucking didn’t pay attention to the floorboards.

The wood creaked under him, and Regulus closed his eyes tightly. Idiot.

He heard a chair squeak loudly, and he prepared himself for Sirius’s outburst, but Alastor Moody’s voice suddenly growled out, loud and commanding.

“Kingsley’s just sent for us. Death Eaters have been sighted at the Ministry,” His tone was gruff and deep, and the atmosphere in the room suddenly became rushed, quick, nearly panicked as footsteps hustled around and voices started talking over one another.

Regulus, once again, held his breath and listened as Dumbledore told everyone to stay calm, the man then adding on that some members of the Order will stay in case of protection. He named two people Regulus didn’t know of, and then silence clutched the house again as the front door slammed shut.

He went back to his room, feeling dizzy as another clap of thunder boomed.

**\-------**

Regulus wasn’t sure when it happened; the loud thump.

It sounded throughout the house, and Regulus could have, _would_ have, just assumed it was the thunder if not for the yell that rung afterwards, cutting off abruptly and leaving a sickened feeling in his stomach.

He stood up from his desk, where he had been reading a book on Runes, and his wand was in his hand in a second, eyes narrowed and mouth dry as he listened for voices. Regulus stepped forward, glancing down to the small gap between the bottom of his door and the ground, checking if any shadows were outside his door.

Not being able to see anything, Regulus took in a quick breath and opened his door, which thankfully didn’t creak or groan. He could hear voices talking downstairs, hushed and nearly silent, and he leaned against the hallway walls, straining to hear.

The 18-year-olds’ heart was in his throat, pulsing in sync with the thunder rumbles, and he felt worry course through him. Intruders were obviously breaking in and _where are the children?_

Regulus didn’t want to think of the possibility of the intruders being Death Eaters, somehow managing to get through the wards.

He reached the stairs, and silently walked down them into the kitchen, before pushing himself back into the shadows, breath caught in his throat. The front door was wide open, rain flying in as the wind forced it through. He squinted, trying to see against the darkness went lightning sparked, lighting the house up for a second.

In that second, Regulus was forced to cover his mouth as he spotted two bodies on the ground by the door—the Order members Dumbledore had assigned, now dead. And now he had to assume the worse; Death Eaters were in the house, and so were innocent people and children. And the Order of The Phoenix was still gone.

Was it all a trap? A trick to get the Order away? Why are they here? _Do they want me?_

Regulus clutched his wand, and he swiftly moved towards the lounge room, breathing through his nose and crouching down. He couldn’t hear the Death Eaters, but he could nearly _smell_ them with their petrichor scent and trail of darkness.

And then another yell rang out, crying and panicked and voices started screaming.

“No! Let her go!” Alina screeched, and Regulus rushed into the loungeroom as quietly as he could, taking in the scene.

Three cloaked people were standing tall, backs to him. The one to the furthest of the right was standing near the couch, gripping the daughter of the Brill family— _why didn’t I learn her name?_ —and she was wailing loudly, all the other children screaming and crying in fear, Julius standing next to his father with wide, horrified eyes. Geraldine had his wand out but was looking hesitant. Alina was being restrained by Fernando, who was watching his daughter and mumbling something. Mathilda was clutching her twins, body shaking.

“Where is he?” A muffled voice asked, and Regulus glanced to the one in the middle. No one answered, and the person slammed their foot down, “WHERE IS HE?”

“Tell us where Regulus Black is otherwise we’ll kill all your _FUCKING_ children in front of you!” The one to the left snarled, and Mathilda cried out in horror.

Regulus felt his heart sink. They _were_ looking for him...and were going to kill these people if they didn’t speak soon. Were they protecting him, or were they merely too frightened, too shocked, to speak? Either way, it didn’t matter. Regulus knew what he had to do.

Time slowed for a moment, and he took a deep breath. He made eye contact with Geraldine, who spotted him in the shadows, and Regulus mumbled, “I’m right here,” and the Death Eaters spun around.

He used an _Incarcerous_ spell, shooting a rope forwards to the one on the left, and it wrapped around their neck, causing them to drop their wand and clutch at the rope. Regulus dodged a red flash from the one in the middle, sending a green one to them— _Avada Kedavra_ —and they dropped to the floor, dead. Regulus didn’t bother to allow himself to feel any regret and instead punched the one on the right, who fell backwards from the impact. He then shot another killing curse at them, before turning back to the one with the rope, who was now on the ground and shaking as they tried to breathe. Regulus frowned and stepped forward before leaning down and snapping their neck with a grunt, their form turning limp and lifeless.

There was silence for a moment as Alina’s daughter rushed forward and hugged her mother, everyone in the room staring at him. He took a deep breath, and muttered, “Okay. Go to the basement,” but they continued to gaze.

Regulus felt his lip up-curl, and he spat, “Go to the basement! I’ll take care of the rest of them.” 

Mathilda wasted no time to run past him, her children racing with her. The Brill family rushed after them, and Julius started walking as well, staring at him from the corner of his eyes, Regulus sending back a harder look. Geraldine stepped forward, patting his shoulder before following the others.

Regulus glanced down at the bodies as he heard the basement door click shut and felt himself turn numb, and he shoved the emotions that tried to come up. He had just _killed_ three people...but in the end, they deserved it.

He clenched his jaw and felt a tingle climb up his back as a door creaked loudly, most likely another group of Death Eaters entering. Regulus quickly walked over and made sure the basement was locked before trying to find a safe place to ambush the Death Eaters, when a voice snickered out.

“I can’t believe Mad-Eye, even Dumbledore, fell for that!” It was a young person’s voice, excited and happy. Happy to be here, happy to be hunting. Regulus almost felt sick when he realised that was how he was...before everything.

“I don’t know if you know the first thing about being a Death Eater,” Rabastian’s familiar voice slurred out, and Regulus bit his lip, leaning against the wall, “But the idea is to be _silent,_ kid _._ ”

There was a huff, “My name’s Dominic.”

“I don’t care—” Rabastian went to continue, but Regulus screwed his eyes closed in horror as a sing-song voice interrupted the man.

“Quiet! How are we supposed to find Reggie with you two chirping like a pair of schoolkids?” Bellatrix Lestrange whispered in an irritated tone, “Hmm?” when they didn’t reply, she scoffed.

Regulus opened his eyes when he heard footsteps spread out—way more than the three he had heard—and he exhaled, stepping out from the darkness. He heard someone enter the lounge room, and listened to Dominic gasp as Regulus rushed towards the kitchen counter, swiftly ducking behind it.

“ _Merlin_!” Dominic shouted, voice crawling higher, and Regulus wondered how old this kid was, and if he’d ever seen a dead body. If he was forced into becoming a Death Eater. “Bella...B-Bellatrix?” The _boy_ stuttered, and Regulus frowned.

Bellatrix’s sharply spat, “What? You—” Her words halted, and Regulus could imagine her standing next to Dominic and staring at the bodies, “Oh. Oh! _Delightful_...find him.”

Regulus slipped out from behind the counter when footsteps walked into the kitchen, and he quickly stood up behind another cloaked person, putting his wand to their head and mumbling out the killing curse again. He stopped the body from falling loudly, softly laying it against the floor. An odd feeling passed throughout him, and he tried not to think of how these were _people_ —people he was killing.

 _They were going to kill me first,_ Regulus thinks, but it doesn’t do much. He instead ignores the feeling and stalks forward, back out into the hallway.

“Hey!” A voice suddenly snarls, and Regulus turned to look to his left, where another Death Eater was at the top of the stairs, wand already aiming. Regulus dodged a red spell just in time— _they’re trying to Stupefy me—_ and looked to his right where it hit another Death Eater, who flew backwards from their colleague’s spell, unconscious.

Regulus shot a killing curse at the person at the top of the stairs, but they dodged it, leaning against the wall. The 18-year-old slipped back into the kitchen, eyes wide as he heard more footsteps rush throughout the house, and the Death Eater that was currently trying to get him called out for them.

He held his breath and jumped out from the kitchen again, shooting two _Avada Kedavra_ spells at the same time, both of them hitting the person, who was looking over his shoulder, down the upstairs hallway. They immediately rolled down the stairs, dead.

Regulus barely had time to dodge before a blue spell flew past him, hitting the wall and putting a dent in it. He jumped over the body and raced up the stairs, shooting another _Incarcerous_ spell at yet another Death Eater, this time at their feet. He then aimed the green curse at their fallen body, feeling a sting pass through him—but he _had_ to. They had to die.

He glanced over his shoulder, before turning back only to halt quickly, stumbling slightly. Bellatrix stood in front of him, head tilted slightly and eyes narrowed, craze flowing through them. She smirked slightly, waving her wand around before she snarled, “ _Reggie._ How are you, cousin?” She stepped forward, and Regulus stepped backwards.

When he didn’t answer, she aimed her wand forward, and a pink flash flowed through the air. Regulus went to dodge, but he slipped slightly, and a cry escaped him as a cut was slashed down his side. _Severing Charm; Diffindo._ It didn’t feel like a deep cut, luckily, and Regulus grit his teeth and thrust his own wand forward, using _Verdimillious Tria,_ which caused a jet of green sparks to fly towards her.

Bellatrix held up a _Protego_ shield, though the sparks flew from all directions, causing her to shout in pain as a strike got through. Regulus let himself feel a small amount of pride before he sprinted back down the hallway and the stairs, disregarding the cold blood sliding down his side—and he forgot about it completely a second later, eyes widening as he spotted just a... _few_ more Death Eaters. There were about four of them, and all turned to look at him at the same time.

The youngest Black dove back behind the kitchen counter at the same time as spells and curses started flying, covering his head as plates broke and cups smashed above him, the objects flying around. Regulus quickly levitated a fairly big kitchen pan and threw it over the counter, hearing a yell as it seemed to hit someone. And then he heard, “ _Expelliarmus_!” and Regulus’s wand flew from his grip.

He shouted out a, “No!” and quickly realised he was now defenceless, and Regulus could hear the footsteps of the new Death Eaters coming towards him. He glanced around for a weapon, still behind the counter, and his eyes set on the _fucking_ kitchen knives on the counter in front of him.

Regulus clenched his jaw, and a second later he jumped forward, snatching up the two biggest knives. He heard a shot by one of the Death Eaters, and avoided another _Stupefy_ , before launching himself forward, his side still bleeding slightly.

There were now three Death Eaters, one of them knocked unconscious from the pan Regulus had thrown. Rabastian was also among the three, unmasked and pupils slit. Regulus jumped in between them all, now in close contact—where they couldn’t shoot spells without the risk of hurting each other. He stabbed one of the knives into a persons’ neck, where they let out a choked cry, and he punched another. Regulus slid the knife out of the neck, and the person fell as he kicked their legs out from under them. The youngest Black then stabbed the other Death Eater through the side of their head, and they screamed, falling back.

Regulus felt sick from the smell of the scarlet, fresh blood, but he forced himself to continue fighting; despite the slice in his side, despite the pounding of his head, despite the pained screams he was causing. Despite the bodies scattered around.

He groaned in pain when Rabastian punched his side, and he doubled over, the man then punching him. Regulus stepped backwards slightly, feeling dizzy.

“What the actual _fuck,_ man?” Rabastian grunted, “Why would you do any—”

But with a yell, Regulus interrupted him and threw the second knife—already cloaked with blood—and with a sickening _squelch_ , it went straight into Rabastian’s stomach. The man stared at him, then slowly titled his head down to the knife, his hands already gathered around the pool of blood. Rabastian’s shoulders heaved, and he looked back up weakly, and blood started to drip from his mouth before he fell to the ground, face forward.

Regulus stared at the body for a second as the man slowly stopped breathing, breaths hitched and then just...stopping. He leaned against the wall, wanting to vomit, but suppressed it because Bellatrix was _still in the house._

He glanced around and spotted his wand laying near the stairs. Regulus quickly stepped forward, but he halted, eyes widening as Bellatrix slinked down the steps. Her head seemed to be wobbling on her shoulders, her hair crazier than usual most likely from the spark spell, and her wand was pointing at him.

Regulus froze, and couldn’t help but flick his gaze down to his wand, suddenly worried— _extremely_ worried. The woman followed his gaze, and a wider smirk overtook her face. She reached down, tutting, and snatched his wand up.

“Tut, tut,” Bellatrix said, turning to him and mocking a frown, “lose ya wand, Reg?”

Regulus reached forward, “Bellatrix, wait, don’t—”

She snapped it.

It felt like something had _literally_ broke, shattering in half, and Regulus gasped as his broken wand fell to the ground. She had...she did it. His magic. He could feel the power sliding away; the spells, the curses, and the light from the kitchen flickered behind them. He wanted to drop to his knees, to crawl to the only thing that had ever been good in his entire fucking life, but instead, he lurched forward, and he was shoving his cousin to the ground and they were both yelling, shouting, kicking and punching, scratching and scraping.

Bellatrix rolled them over so she was on top, and she punched him viciously, her nails sliding down his face and making his scratches burn. Regulus screamed and kicked his knee up and hit her in the stomach. She let out an _oof_ ; but then the woman reached down and grabbed his neck, and he winced from the pressure on the healing bruises.

Regulus tried to cough, and he desperately kicked at her but she pressed down harder, cutting off his airway. He could feel the pulsing of the air around him; the ringing silence; the sound of his hitched breathing; the memories swirling in his brain; the blood leaving his body; the sparks, the knives, the curses, the hexes, the magic and _no, no, no, no, nononononono—_

And then Bellatrix’s head exploded.

Regulus screamed as blood sprayed everywhere and the brain matter and the _pop_!—it sounded like a balloon, he nearly laughed, is he laughing, _am I laughing?_ —and the hands untightened around his neck and the headless body fell to the side, off of him and Regulus was laying in a pool of blood, and he was reaching up to his face and _WHAT THE FUCK IS IN MY MOUTH_ , and there was something in his mouth and _oh, Merlin is my cousins’ brain in my mouth,_ and he couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying or screaming and _everything hurts_ and the magic was pulsing— _why is it so loud?_ — _WHY IS IT SO LOUD_ , shut up, shut up, _shutshuthshutupupup._

Then he’s standing, when did he stand, and he’s shaking, _everything hurts_ , and his heart is in his throat and he’s choking on blood and his side is bleeding and _there’s bodies everywhere_ , and then his eyes are rolling into the back of his head and he’s falling backwards and a doors clicking open and someone’s gasping, someone’s screaming and someone’s laughing and _oh, it’s me, I’m laughing._

Regulus is already unconscious before his head hits the ground, gurgling on blood—unsure if it’s his own or someone else’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed!! might make a part 2 if anyone is interested :) also please note this was barely edited!! send another request to me at @regulusprompts on tumblr! or feel free to check out my main, @lacuniaa <33


	4. Exploding Brains & Co pt2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part two for the previous chapter, as promised!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "@anon asked:  
> could u plz plz plz do a part 2 of prompt 15?"

The first thing Sirius thought when he stepped in the house was surprisingly _not_ a swear word. Not even _a_ word.

Just... _silence_ in his head, around his ears, nearly like a distant, chiming bell.

The door to the safe house was wide open, allowing creeping moonlight to flow in, hungrily licking at the obvious corpses at the front door. Someone was screaming in the house, voice high-pitched and terrified, and some of the Order Members rushed past him. But he didn’t do the same, instead listening to the ringing in his ears as he stepped further in, gawking.

More bodies. Everywhere.

Five were laying near the stairs and kitchen and when Sirius realised the darkness wasn’t playing a trick on him he nearly vomited because one was fucking _missing a head_ , and he froze, not even a shiver crawling up his spine. His hand slowly lifted to his mouth, nausea swirling in his stomach, and he heard someone gasp in horror behind him, nearly synchronising with the voices and continuous panicked screaming.

Blood and _...brain juices_...were splattered all over the ground, the liquid even managing to reach some parts of the wall, and Sirius stared at the two separate knives stabbed in two separate bodies. The swearing in his head started.

_What the...what the fuck happened?_ Sirius thought, the sentence barely connecting as questions tried to trample over one another, still staring dumbly at the bodies.

“Oh Merlin! Oh Merlin!” A woman was yelling as someone tried to hush her, and Sirius realised it was Mathilda, who was cradling herself, rocking back and forth as Julius tried to hide the children behind him, gazing at the bodies with a wide-eyed, frightened expression.

And then Minerva McGonagall was calling his name, and he snapped out of his trance, “Sirius! It’s Regulus!”

He ran over to his brother, feet dodging the bodies, and he noticed Regulus was lying in a pool of blood— _Merlin, not him, please not him—_ the ringing still pure in his ears.

**\-------**

He awoke to jumbled thoughts, a dry throat, and an itchy face.

Regulus jolted upwards immediately, vision swirling and jumping, jumping, jumping, and he felt his hands clutch the sides of his head. It felt as though he had been bouncing on a trampoline, as though he had been falling off a broom, as though he had...just killed a bunch of Death Eaters.

His eyes widened, and he almost threw up, because everything came back. The knives. Rabastian falling forwards. The ropes. The spells. The hands around his throat. The blood on the wall—the blood in his mouth.

He started clawing at his tongue, panic building in him, and he felt a liquid rise in his throat— _Bellatrix’s blood_ —and he was tilting to the side— _am I in my room?_ —and Regulus was vomiting.

It...wasn’t really vomiting, actually.

More like trying to bring up whatever he could. Heaving. Gagging. Regulus felt tears burn at the corners of his eyes as a fresh slice of pain flowed through his side, and he curled his fingers around the bedside table. Maybe it wasn’t best to move with his wound, and he tried to turn and look at the cut in his side, but he was...occupied. Thick separate _slobs_ of hardened, scarlet blood fell from his throat, as if it had all dried up in there. He didn’t want to think too much of it—and that was saying he could anyway.

Regulus’s mind was a mess, memories pulsing against his skull, causing him to feel dizzy and he could already feel a migraine forcing its way through. His thoughts were incomprehensible, as if someone was juggling them around, around, around, around—

A door slammed open, and the 18-year-old slowly dragged his eyes over to the person.

Sirius.

His hair was a mess, spiked up in all different directions and his face was unnaturally pale, expression shaken. His brother gazed at him for a second, eyes glancing over his state, and Regulus wrinkled his nose. An awkward air of silence settled between them after a heartbeat of silence.

“You...” Sirius trailed off, stepping forward and retracting his hand from the door, where he had burst through. Sirius’s eyes glanced down to Regulus’s hands—and he realised with a bite of his lip that they were covered in blood. Great.

Regulus chose to speak, shoving down a wince when he moved his head, and his voice was cracked as he spoke, “Are...is everyone o-okay?” He sounded pathetic, his wavering obvious to his ears, and he dropped his head slightly.

Sirius opened his mouth then closed it, and then he glanced down to the vomit, “I heard you vomiting. Are _you_ okay?” It was odd. Sirius’s voice was...worried. Like he cared. _Maybe he does._ Before Regulus could repeat his question, his brother answered him, “And yes, everyone’s fine. But...I...they said...”

“What?” Regulus frowned after there was a pause. He knew what his brother was thinking—that Regulus was a murderer and insane, and maybe, Merlin, maybe he was, and that he should’ve just knocked the Death Eaters out and let Azkaban take care of them. But...no. Regulus couldn’t have done that. They always awoke with a little bit more craze in their eyes and a little bit more vengeance in their heart. Always. At Sirius’s continuous, tranced stare, Regulus added, “And yes. I’m okay. I just had to get something out of my system.”

His hands were shaking. They both knew it. They both ignored it.

Sirius stepped forward, looking around. The blinds in the room were closed, but there was enough light coming in from the hallway to brighten the room. Regulus wondered what time it was. Was it the same day? Morning? Night? A week after, a heartbeat later?

“We counted ten bodies in total, Reg.” Sirius whispered, and Regulus bit his cheek, boring his gaze into his duvets. They really were doing this now. His brother stood with his back to him before slowly turning around, no expression planted on his face. Maybe the worry had been fake. Maybe his brother truly didn’t care. “ _Ten_. You fucking killed ten people.”

Another silence, another heartbeat, another pause.

“They were Death Eaters.” Regulus’s voice was raspy, dark. Weak.

“You could have _stupefied_ them.”

“They would’ve just gotten back up. Too much of a risk. You are aware there are, what, six children in this so-called-safe-house, yes?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. _He almost looks like Mother._ Regulus tried not to snort to himself; his brother would strangle him for thinking it.

At the thought of strangling, Regulus touched his neck. It wasn’t aching, and he couldn’t tell if it was bruised or not. Maybe a medic had healed it for him, or maybe he was just too numb to feel it. The pain had departed from his side, leaving a low, dull ache, and he really wanted to see his injuries—but not with his brother in the room. He couldn’t show that weakness.

His brother had a clenched jaw as he stated, voice quiet, “You’re the exact same as _them_ , y’know, Reg? You didn’t need to kill them. You didn’t need to kill them like _that._ ” He sounded like he was going to be sick, and Regulus watched as a flicker of memories sparked through his eyes. He had obviously seen Bellatrix’s...state.

Sirius wouldn’t understand. No one ever did. Anger rushed through him at the thought.

Regulus waited a moment before speaking, and he felt pathetic as his voice shook, “And what would you say I had done? Let the people in this house defend themselves? They are _not_ soldiers. They were not raised for killing, like we were. I _had_ to do it. Maybe that makes me like _them_. Maybe that makes me insane, crazy, _fucking_ mad! But, in the end, I had no choice. It was either us, or them, and I am not taking any more chances because every time I _do_ , someone _good_ dies! And I would much rather fucking Death Eaters be the ones to die than people similar to those in this house, and you do, too. _I had no choice_.”

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Sirius snarled, and Regulus _almost_ flinched, “The people _you_ killed could have been taken to Azkaban and got justice, got what they deserved!” His brother shoved a pointed finger forwards, “But, no, ‘you had no choice’. You murdered people! You killed them in cold blood, and somehow managed to take off Bellatrix’s fucking head!” Sirius paced for a moment, face red, “You _are_ insane! You _are_ crazy! You are just like them, and _you had a choice._ ”

Regulus leaned forward, anger bubbling. His brother would never get it, no one ever would, and he hated them for it. “I didn’t mean to kill Bellatrix like _that_! She broke my wand, and I couldn’t hold back the magic because she was trying to claw my fucking head off! But of course, _you_ wouldn’t understand, because everything’s always fucking perfect for you, _Siri!_ ”

“What in the name of Merlin does that mean?” Sirius spat, and Regulus could nearly _see_ his hackles raising. The 18-year-old shoved off his duvets, and sat up despite the pain that sharpened throughout him, standing up and turning to his brother.

“It _means_ ,” Regulus hissed, “that your life is so fucking perfect ever since you left _me._ Ever since you abandoned _me._ I hate you! I hate the way you used to _prance_ around Hogwarts—” His brother rolled his eyes, a scowl forming on his face, “I hate the way you replaced me with James-Fucking-Potter, I hate the way you tried to act like you were the only one in the house who was _hurt_ , I hate the way you shoved me away the _second_ I was sorted into Slytherin, I hate the way you fucking are, Sirius! I hate you, because you never try to understand because everything is so _perfect_ for you and you didn’t _have_ to understand just how cruel this fucking world is!”

Sirius hounded on him, and a punch was collided against Regulus. He stumbled back, but regained his footing, shoving his own fist forward and landed a hit on his brother’s cheek. They lunged at each other, but in the end, Regulus was still injured and smaller—and he was forced backwards and onto the ground as Sirius landed on top of him, punching him again.

Regulus winced sharply as Sirius’s elbow dug into his side, and he raked his fingers up, his nails digging into his brother’s neck. They were about to continue their tussle, they _would_ have continued their tussle, but a hand cuffed around the back of Sirius’s top, and he was yanked from Regulus, who held his hands to his side.

The 18-year-old looked up, and realised they had an audience, but he didn’t focus on them. Anger was still flowing through him, and he awkwardly got up from his spot on the ground, leaning sluggishly against the wall, still clutching his side. He could feel a fuzzy sort of pain coming from the spots Sirius had punched him, and set his enraged glare at his brother, who was being held back by James.

“I have _never_ , _never, never,_ in my _life,_ come across such—” Minerva was snapping, eyes flicking back and forth between the two brothers, and Regulus directed his glare to the woman, who stared back with her own deadly eyes.

“You don’t get to fucking say that you _asshole_!” Sirius cut her off, struggling against James, “I know how cruel this world is! I was _abused_ by our parents, I _protected_ you, and I ran away so I wouldn’t get the _Cruciatus_ anymore, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND!”

Regulus stepped forward, and one of the shelves started shaking, but he didn’t care because _no one ever understands,_ “Who do you think became their FUCKING punching bag after you _ran?_ After you LEFT? After you ABANDONED _ME_?” There was a pulse of silence, of hatred, of everything and nothing, and Regulus added, voice suddenly cracked as he felt the gaze of everyone— _Dumbledore, McGonagall, the Brill’s, Seymour’s, Vasquez’s, Marauders_ —on him, “You never _protected_ me, you just stalled it.”

There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and there was silence. Nothing. Weak, pathetic.

Regulus closed his eyes, and the rattling of the shelves stopped. He breathed. He focused, and he opened his eyes. “I had to, Sirius. I _had_ to.”

Maybe if he said it enough, if he thought it enough, it would be true, and Sirius would be wrong. Merlin, he hoped Sirius was wrong. Because otherwise he was right, and Regulus was just like _them._

**\-------**

It had been three days since their fight.

Regulus had found out he was staying at _another_ safe house, and his room was just similar to his past one. The other safe house had been cleared out, the bodies deposed of—something Regulus _didn’t_ want to know of—and the other two Death Eaters who had been, in James’ words, ‘lucky enough to be unconscious’, were taken somewhere he didn’t have the Order’s trust to know.

Sirius still wasn’t talking to him, and Regulus was glad for it. His voice was annoying, anyway.

Dumbledore had reassured him he understood about the killing, saying that sometimes a dragonfly was too gone under to glow. Whatever the fuck that meant. Julius had begrudgingly thanked Regulus for protecting them as well, but it seemed as though the others were too... _frightened_...to talk with him. He chose not to think on it too much.

The Marauders walked around him as though they were on tiptoes, Peter Pettigrew not being able to look him in the eye, Remus Lupin holding a tight-lipped frown around him and James Potter always seeming to be staring at him, like he trying to work Regulus out—as though he hadn’t already spilled out his emotions to all of the inhabitants in his argument with Sirius already. It was sort of embarrassing now that he thought of it, even if it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Lily Evans had approached him a few hours into the afternoon a day after the fight and offered to take him to find a new wand sometime when it was safe. Regulus had nearly cried because _why is this girl, woman, so kind?_

Regulus now sat in the study room by one of the windows, slightly dozing. He felt nearly...at peace. A stream of sunlight was flowing through the round window, glittering throughout the room, warming him, golden and sweet. There was distant chatter in the lounge room next to him, buzzing yet nice because he felt _relieved_. His shoulders were untensed, his wound was healing nicely, his face wasn’t stinging from the punches after a quick flick of Minerva’s wand—but he had learned that the Inferi’s wounds would never heal, unfortunately, but maybe that was okay. Maybe he would be okay. He was fine with okay; he was _happy_ with okay.

Regulus let out a breath, tilting his head backwards, and felt his drowsiness become sleep. Hopefully dreamless sleep, free of the plaguing Inferius and glowing, green necklace. And then he felt a blanket—a _soft_ blanket—droop over him, falling weightlessly and settling upon him, and Regulus peeked his eyes open to see who had placed it on him.

Sirius.

His brother’s _voice_ may be annoying, but maybe, just _maybe_ , Sirius would turn out to be not so annoying.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the shortness! hope it was okay :DD I'll be working on more requests as soon as I can, I'm just a tad bit busy with school as it has started up again. feel free to request more regulus black oneshots at my tumblr, @regulusprompts, or check out my main @lacuniaa !!


	5. All Forks and No Fucks given.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> regulus black has always had a temper. it’s not his fault that one day it snaps at breakfast and he stabs a fork into evan rosier’s hand when he’s spitting pure-blood nonsense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> language warning!

Okay. Regulus doesn’t know a lot of things. He’ll admit to that, happily, despite what anyone else says. He doesn’t know much about Muggles. He, personally, doesn’t know much about dogs. He doesn’t know the incarnation for, what, a few spells?

But if there is one thing Regulus _does_ know, it’s that Evan Rosier is really, really, fucking annoying, and it’s getting terribly difficult to pretend he isn’t. To pretend their friends, that they’ll become bloody Death Eaters together and become ol’ Voldemort’s right-hand-men and live merrily happy ever after!

Look, sure, whatever: Regulus will admit that, yes, he is probably (definitely) going to become a Death Eater. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, anyone else to run to (not after Sirius, not after he left, not after he _abandoned_ him—) or any heroic future waiting for him to catch up to.

He does, however, have a sense of decency, thank you very much, and _doesn’t_ support what his family stands for. What Voldemort stands for.

But Evan does; and he won’t fucking _shut up about it._

The first time Evan babbles on about pure-blood supremacy and what-not, it’s a Tuesday.

Because of course it is. Tuesdays are shit. Everyone knows that. The last time it was a Tuesday, Regulus had three ghosts walk through him like he was one of their own. _Three._ What the fuck? It was the weirdest feeling ever, and not to mention he had history of magic that day, which made him feel heavy-lidded and lazy and weighed down to the ground like tendrils of roots had chained him to the Earth.

They’re sitting in potions class on a four-person table, Regulus partnered with some Ravenclaw kid, Evan sitting across from them with his own partner. Professor Slughorn is standing at the front of the classroom, telling a tale to Lily Evans and Severus Snape. The two have interrupted their lesson on making _Dreamless Sleep,_ a mandatory lesson for all sixth-years, needing something for their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. (Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh-years together for a DADA lesson? Really? Who _makes_ these curriculums? Regulus would laugh had the extremely strong smell of lavender, for the potion, not been burning his eyes)

Slughorn has been caught up in the excitement of seeing his two favourite students and is now telling them all about the oh-so-wonderful trip to his cousin’s in their oh-so-wonderful house and their oh-so-wonderful lives long enough that the entire class has caught up with one another and the room is now quiet and awkward, enough for it to be uncomfortable.

The Ravenclaw kid shifts next to him, nudging him with his elbow discreetly, and Regulus pauses in his scribbling on a piece of parchment. He glances at his partner, who nods to the front of the room, and Regulus looks up to see Snape glaring a hole into his head, rather less than discreetly.

Regulus can’t help but grin; Snape hates him for a number of reasons, and he finds them all rather amusing. One, he’s Sirius’s brother. Two, he’s better at potion-making than Snape, which much be extremely infuriating for him because, Three, he’s Sirius’s brother.

“Ah, yes, that’s—yeah! Haha, so funny, Professor, but you see, the class must be waiting—oh, yeah, I’m so excited for the club meeting, ha, yeah!” While Lily struggles to politely dismiss the two of them, her arms full of a few ingredients, Snape narrows his eyes at Regulus’s grin.

After making sure Slughorn is still occupied with the seventh-years, Regulus slowly raises his hand up and waves his middle-finger around at Snape, still holding a wolfish expression. Severus’s own darkened considerably, and Regulus knew it is all rather Sirius of him, but he can’t help but taunt a little bit when the opportunity presents itself.

The Ravenclaw beside him snorts and muffles a chuckle into his sleeve, and for a moment Snape glares at him, too, before looking away. Regulus puts his hand down, triumphant, and returns to his scribbling.

Slughorn is forced to dismiss them when Snape himself grabs the ingredients and takes a hinting step towards the door, and it isn’t long before they’re both gone and the classroom is back to a working pace as their professor begins talking them through the next steps.

Regulus was starting to think Tuesday’s weren’t all _that_ bad when Evan suddenly leans over the desk to him, wearing a dog’s smirk as he says, “Should’ve down that to the mudblood, eh, Reg?”

Regulus’s face goes blank, and the two Ravenclaw’s on the table suddenly tense and share fearful looks. _Yeah,_ Regulus thinks bitterly, _Tuesdays are shit._

The second time it’s a week later, on a Thursday evening, nearly dinner.

The day’s been hard to Regulus, his ribs aching from Slytherin’s practice Quidditch match against Gryffindor. His side had been hit with one of Frank Longbottom’s stray bludger’s, and as Regulus takes a step out of the locker-room, he breaths out a harsh sigh that causes a sting to travel through his body.

The outside of Hogwarts is turning cold, night beginning to make itself known. Regulus tugs at his collar, squinting and raking a hand through his hair. He went to make his way towards the Castle, but a sudden shout catches his attention.

His grey eyes turn to see some members of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin team standing near each other, Evan Rosier on the ground, snarling up at James Potter. Wands were out and the hostility levels were high, Regulus being able to sense them even from his place away.

He sighs again. Should he even bother going over? Or should he just start the walk back and hope to not be seen by his team?

Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to choose, as at that moment James noticed him, a smirk growing over his face. The older boy held up his hand in a mock greeting, causing everyone else to look over at Regulus as well.

Regulus tried not to glower as James shouted, “Heyya, Baby Black! Mind clearing up a little scrimmage here, hm?”

He walked over to them, very determinedly Not Looking at Sirius, who he knew was doing the same. (Things would never be the same after everything. _Never_. It was fine, fine, fine, he was _fine_ —) Evan got to his feet, face still angered. The Slytherin team was glaring over at the Gryffindors, who were returning the gesture. Frank Longbottom looked awfully guilty, but a few others on each side looked like they just wanted to go back to the dorms. Regulus agreed with them.

“What—” Regulus starts, but James interrupts him with a sharp smile and a wave of his hand.

“Did Frank’s bludger hit you on purpose?”

“Uhm.” Regulus really doesn’t appreciate being put on the spot like this. He’s tired and aching and really wants to sleep, but this _stupid_ rivalry is stopping him from doing so.

There’s a pause as everyone gazes at him. Evan’s eyes say _lie._ James’s eyes say _tell the truth._ Regulus decides he hates Thursdays, too.

“No,” He answers, honestly, “It was a stray.”

Regulus’s eyes meet Sirius’s for the first time in a long time. There’s a flicker of surprise there, but when his brother blinks all emotion is gone again. Uproar from the Slytherin house is immediate, and Frank looks slightly relieved. He gives Regulus a small nod, and he hesitantly returns it. James grins and starts yelling something else at the Slytherins, but Regulus is already turning away, towards the Castle.

He doesn’t bother to see if Evan is following, but it turns out he should have because a few moments later, when he’s up near one of the many entrances to Hogwarts, a hand roughly grabs his shoulder.

Regulus hisses in pain as he’s shoved forward into the stone wall, his body being turned around so he’s facing Evan’s angered face. No one else is there, so everyone else must have went another route.

“What the fuck, Regulus?” Evan snarls, annoyed and probably embarrassed. Regulus assumes he’s the one that started the squabble with the Gryffindor team over the bludger and expected Regulus to take his side. Pity.

He narrows his own grey eyes at Evan and says, “What.”

Evan’s eyebrows furrow in resentment, “Don’t— _what_ —why are you acting so _weird_? Why didn’t you take _my_ side?”

“Because it wasn’t true.” Regulus shoots back, “Why are _you_ stirring up trouble for no reason?”

Evan releases him, and for a moment Regulus thinks he’s about to reach for his wand, but then a cruel smile curls over his face as he spits, “Never took you for a fucking blood-traitor, Reggie. It’s not a good look for you.” His teeth look like that of a shark’s as he adds, “See you at dinner.”

Evan then walks off, leaving Regulus to glare after him.

The third time is the last time.

It’s a Saturday morning, breakfast being an uncomfortable affair for Regulus. His stomach is churning at the thought of food, and his head is pounding from his horrible sleep the night before. Bags have grown under his eyes, his dreams poisoned due to his parents’ letter earlier that week. He has yet to respond to them.

He is getting the Dark Mark soon. His sixteenth birthday is soon. Everything is soon, and he isn’t ready for any of it whatsoever.

(He’ll never be ready, never, never, _never_. He’s just sitting, waiting for when the time comes and he can escape, even if it’s never, never, never. He’s nothing, nothing, no one will miss him, no one will come for him, no one cares, no one fucking _cares_ —)

His emotions are high, but his face is perfectly blank. Regulus sits and stares down at his coffee, stirring it slowly in a repeated manner. He hasn’t spoken to anyone yet, but no one around him seems to notice.

Except Barty, who nudges him with his elbow and pushes a plate of food in front of him. Regulus stares at it for a moment, hand hesitantly reaching for his fork to eat something, even if the smell makes him want to vomit.

A first year is sitting in front of him next to Evan, listening to the sixth-year retell a Quidditch tale. Evan’s sitting so his right hand is on the table, the left of his body turned to face the kid, gesturing his left hand for emphasis.

Snape is on the other side of Evan, glowering down at his own food. Regulus thinks he looks dead, and then remembers what he himself looks like.

“So, like, did you get past the Keeper?” The first year asks, eyes wide. Regulus rolls his own and stabs a sausage with his fork before making a face and pushing his plate away. Barty sends him a dark look.

Evan nods in response, lapping up the attention like the dog he is, “Of course I did. I always do,” He smirks, and when Regulus looks at Barty, his friend mocks a gagging noise quietly. Regulus snorts to himself before listening to Evan again, who says, “I reckon I’m the one that saved the game. Sure, ol’ Regulus caught the snitch and ended the game, but without me we wouldn’t nearly have had enough points to keep ahead.”

Evan’s gaze was now turned over to Regulus as he looks up again, and Regulus narrows his own eyes. The first year lets out a little, “ _Wow!_ ”, not noticing the new tension as he starts hounding into his breakfast.

Regulus, for a moment, felt like defending himself and arguing, but he couldn’t find the energy. A heavy weight slowly settles over his shoulders, and he wonders if he could somehow get his hands on a _Dreamless Sleep_ potion.

Evan, however, doesn’t seem to like the lack of reaction. Ever since the Quidditch incident Evan had taken personally, he’d been trying to rile up Regulus by using all sort of horrible racist remarks and whatnot, but to no avail. The blonde-haired boy turns in his seat to fully face Regulus, both hands now settling on the table, his smirk somehow sharper.

The tension grows slightly higher, and conversation dies down slightly around them, as if Evan’s loud, boasting— _annoying as fuck_ —voice was the background noise everyone preferred. Regulus flicks his eyes up to meet Evan’s, storm grey meeting tide blue.

Snape looks up as well, still scowling, and Barty tenses beside him. The first year looks up too, curiosity obvious in his face.

“What’s wrong, Reg?” Evan asks, “Not even going to defend yourself?”

Regulus doesn’t find any point in responding. He returns his gaze down to the fork in his sausage. His head continues to thump, like thunder. A professor on the staff table turns to look at them.

Evan leans forward, taunting, “Do you need your brother to hold your hand for everything? Surely not, he doesn’t even _look_ at you anymore. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” He leans backwards again, spreading his hands out before placing them back on the table, “Don’t think _we_ haven’t noticed.”

_Shut up._ Regulus thinks, but instead he forces his emotions down. More conversation dies, and even some people on the Ravenclaw table beside them turn to look. Evan and his _fucking_ annoying voice.

Regulus pulls his plate back in front of him, pulling his fork out of the sausage and fiddling with his food. He can feel something dark forming in him. Barty presses his leg against his own under the table.

Evan’s face takes on an amused expression and he says, “Hey, wait, does anyone at all actually _care_ about you, Reggie? Anyone? Dear older brother Sirius? Mummy? Daddy? Or does everyone just…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “ _Abandon_ you?”

Regulus grits his teeth. _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._ It feels like everyone in the entire hall was now openly staring.

His hand clenches around the fork.

“It would make sense. But I can’t say I agree with your brother’s _coping_ methods.”

_Shut up. Shut the fuck up._

“Because, _really_? A half-blood boyfriend.” Evan pauses yet again, pretending to think.

Regulus picks up the fork, eyes landing on Evan’s right hand still on the table.

“Hm. Better than a _mud-blood,_ eh—”

And then the fork in Regulus’s hand was stabbing through Evan’s, as quick as a shadow, the movement anger and rage-fuelled and the magic in him forcing the fork straight through Evan’s hand and into the table itself and, finally, _finally,_ Evan Rosier shut the fuck up.

At least, for a moment.

The blonde-haired boy stares down at the fork literally _through_ his hand in open horror and shock. If the whole Great Hall wasn’t quiet before, it definitely is now—apart from Evan, of course.

He starts screaming madly, trying to get his hand away from the fork, but not being able to with it in the table. The first year beside him also starts screaming, blood starting to pool around Evan’s poor, _poor_ hand, and Snape stares at the sight in front of him, Barty doing the same.

People start standing up and rushing off in shock and fear, some students of the other houses rushing to see what ended up happening. A few professors step forward, trying to reach where Regulus is sitting. Dumbledore himself slowly stands.

Regulus himself could feel nothing but grim anger as he eyes the still-screaming Evan, and as another wave of red rage swept over him, he leans forward and grabs Evan by the collar, shoving his hand over the other boy’s mouth to stop the screaming.

All self-preservation and care for consequences went straight out the window on a bloody broomstick as Regulus snarls, forcing Evan to look him in the eye by grabbing his hair, “If you say that fucking word again, I will rip your _fucking_ tongue out and make you choke on it.”

And then Regulus stands up, hand still embedded in Evan’s hair. He slams the boy’s head against the wooden table in one last warning, and a sickening crack rang through the Hall as Evan’s nose broke.

Somebody else screamed out in surprise, and everyone scrambled to get out of Regulus’s way as he stormed from the Great Hall. A professor started booming his name, but he couldn’t give a shit.

It’s only a minute later that Regulus stands in the Owlery, writing back to his parents about the Dark Mark.

His owl tilts it’s head at him when he storms in, and he rips out some parchment, quickly scribbling on the paper, anger and rage and everything still racing through him.

_Fuck Off._

_— Best Regards,_

_Regulus Arcturus Black._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just say if you'd want a part two! i'd be happy to write one <33  
> feel free to request more regulus black based shit on my tumblr, @regulusblackprompts, or check out my main, @lacuniaa !!


	6. All Forks and No Fucks given pt2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "@anon asked:  
> OMG!! Yes! Please do a part 2 for the 38th promt! You are such an amazing writer and I always get really excited to see that you posted s story. It would be so interesting to see everyone deal with the fallout of what Regulus did!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the love on the previous chapter!

_Tick, tick, tick._

A clock on the wall of Dumbledore’s office is just one of many sounds in the room.

There are a few strange silver instruments in one corner, whirring around and puffing some sort of gas every once in a while. There’s a phoenix bird gazing at him lazily from its’ place on a wooden perch, ash residing below it in a bowl, small talkative chirps coming from it every once in a while. There’s chatting portraits above and around him, one being his great-great-grandfather Phineas Nigellus Black who keeps on giving him the side-eye. There’s a crackling fire down near the entrance to the office and glancing out the window to the tree’s outside tells him wind is whistling through the blue sky.

_Tick, tick, tick._

Regulus leg starts to bounce up and down in sync with the clock.

Professor McGonagall had came and found him after his outburst at breakfast, where he was sitting outside the owlery with wide, frightened eyes, regret buzzing through him like rotten, wrong adrenaline because _how_?

(How could he have attacked Evan? Why? How could he have sent that fucking letter? How could he have set up his death like this? His torture? He could practically feel his mother’s wraith seeping from her skin, toxic and vile and poisoned as he sat against the wall, hands shaking and everything in the world _wrong_ ).

He had tried to hide his expression as he had gazed up at her, but the transfiguration teacher must have seen something, because she had done nothing more than purse her lips and nod her head for him to follow her. So, he had.

And now he’s been sitting in Dumbledore’s bloody office for well over half an hour.

He doesn’t feel _guilt_ about stabbing Evan’s hand with a fork, but he does feel regret because he could have done it in a much better manner and possibly _not in front of the whole school._ He’ll be expelled. Of course he will.

Regulus turns. He looks over his shoulder at the door, waiting for it to open and for a teacher to demand his wand and for it to be snapped in two. He turns back to the front of him. _Breathe_ , he reminds himself, and he does, but it stutters half-way through. He taps his fingers on the desk he’s seated at. Tries to breathe again. Stops. Tries again. Begins to breathe normally. His shoulders relax. _Breathe, breathe, breathe._

It’s that silent mantra that gets him through the next two minutes (two-and-a-half? Three? Regulus doesn’t know. He’s freaking out. What is taking Dumbledore so _long_? Is this a test? Will his mother and father show up, fuming and snarling and venomous and take him to the basement? ( _not the basement, please, not the basement! Mum! Dad! Please, not the basement!)_ )

_Tick, tick, tick._

Regulus is about to blow the bloody clock to bits when a voice startles him.

It’s not his mother’s. It’s not Dumbledore’s. In fact, it isn’t even a person.

“Regulus Black,” The Sorting Hat grunts, and Regulus looks, bewildered, up at the magical clothing attire as a grin slowly comes unsewn on its’ ‘face’, “As Slytherin as the day I met you.”

Regulus stares at it. What? _What_? Thoughts flash through his mind, and it feels like, for a moment, that he’s staring through a fish lens, his vision shaking around the edges and his breath harsh and harsh and cold and _what_?

The Sorting Hat uses Legilimency—so, it’s invading his mind, right now, right _now_ —and Regulus doesn’t have to think any more on the matter before he’s forcing his mind to become a blank slate, an empty room, a blanket of darkness and nothing more, nothing less like Barty taught him to in third year.

_“To protect you,” He had whispered into the moonlit darkness of the Slytherin common room, “Against your parents. I use it against my dad sometimes.”_

_“Okay,” Regulus had whispered back, and that was that._

Regulus gazes up at the hat, which in turn stares back with its’ empty ‘eye’ sockets. But then, before Regulus can say anything, the door to the office is being opened and footsteps are rustling inside rather quickly.

The teenager cranes his head over his shoulder, and isn’t surprised to find not one, but several professors. There’s Dumbledore, of course, with a thoughtful look on his face, McGonagall herself with pursed lips and a pinched expression and Slughorn, who’s holding his arms out in a gesture as though he had been speaking mere moments before.

Their conversation halts as they turn their gazes from each other to Regulus, and he resists the urge to curl himself into a small ball in the corner and die on the spot.

Dumbledore pulls up an effortless smile— _as if he’s_ pleased _to see a hand-stabbing prick,_ Regulus thinks bitterly—and walks forward until he’s seated in his desk, in front of Regulus. The old professor waves his hand once, and two more chairs glide up to either sides of the teenager, which the two other occupants in the room take—McGonagall on Regulus’s right, Slughorn on his left.

“Sherbet lemon?” is the first thing out of Dumbledore’s mouth, and Regulus stares at him for a moment before slowly shaking his head. Dumbledore hums as if this rejection has revealed some huge life-secret. McGonagall stiffens and presses her lips into an even thinner line. Slughorn hesitantly reaches out to take one of the yellow Muggle sweets.

Dumbledore leans back in his seat, and the silence of the room stretches for a few heartbeats, the sound of Slughorn loudly opening his Sherbet Lemon joining the other noises. Regulus jaw clenches as he watches the potion teacher out of the corner of his eye, the man fumbling with the wrapper, and he has stops himself from snatching it and throwing it away.

The Headmaster eyes pierce through and into Regulus, and he forces himself to stop thinking. He doesn’t know if the man possesses Legilimency, but it wouldn’t surprise him, so he won’t risk it.

“As you are most likely aware,” Dumbledore begins, and Regulus prepares himself to be expelled, “Most in the Great Hall this morning overheard you and Mr Rosier’s… _exchange_ over breakfast.”

Regulus _knows_ that’s sugar-coating.

The professor goes to say something, but he pauses before continuing, “Here at Hogwarts, as I’m sure you’re aware, violence of any sort is strictly forbidden, and what occurred this morning was, well, _violence._ ”

“Headmaster, if I may, you can’t truly be setting up to _expel_ Regulus—” Professor McGonagall goes to say, but Dumbledore holds a hand up patiently.

“No, I do not plan to expel Master Regulus,” Dumbledore declares, and Regulus blinks, eyes suddenly going wide and scepticism running through him.

“I—” He splutters, “I—what? Why? I…I _attacked_ Evan. Surely, I, well—” He pauses, feeling the stares of the teachers around him. Dumbledore’s gazing at him thoughtfully. McGonagall looks disbelieving. Slughorn’s still struggling with his bloody Sherbet Lemon.

“Young Evan’s injury was quite easy to heal, according to Madam Pomfrey, and now he’s just resting in the Hospital Wing. There was no major damage done, Regulus, except for maybe some first year’s hearing some language they shouldn’t have.” There’s a humorous twinkle in his eye, but it vanishes when a sigh leaves his body, “But, there still has to be consequences. For Mister Rosier, Professor Slughorn has agreed for him to have at least a month’s worth of detention for his vulgar use of words and possibly some counselling to help…better his mindset, as well as a suspension from Quidditch training. As for you, we have set up around two months of detention for your own use of…well, a fork and your _creative_ threat and a small suspension from Quidditch training. I hope this all seems fair.”

Regulus stares at him. What? He says, “So you’re not…breaking my wand? I’m _staying_?”

It’s Professor Slughorn who answers, “Well, of course we’re not breaking your wand, my boy!” He seems rather happy now, as he chews on his unwrapped Sherbet Lemon. Still, Regulus doesn’t think he’ll be attending any future Slughorn parties—not that he minds.

“We should be breaking Rosier’s wand,” McGonagall mutters lowly to herself, and Regulus glances at her before back to Dumbledore, who’s still watching him closely.

“I, well, alright then,” Regulus says, still not believing this is really happening. He’s really not going. He’s _staying_. “…Thank you,” He continues, feeling a little awkward now.

Dumbledore nods, “Of course, of course, Young Regulus. Feel free to return to your dormitory now to prepare for your next class. Report for your detention after dinner at the Trophy Room.”

Regulus nods back and rises from his chair, glancing at all the professors before nodding once more. The phoenix sends him a happy chirp as he heads towards the door, but before he can open it, Dumbledore speaks again.

“Oh, and I do believe your brother is awaiting you outside my office. Have a nice day.”

Regulus breath hitches, but he forces out another nod and exits the room, stepping onto the stairs with the gargoyle in between them. He hasn’t spoken to Sirius in…a, well, _awhile_. They haven’t offered each other much more than glances ever since he left Grimmauld Place.

Regulus suddenly feels like he’s about to fall, so he desperately clutches the statue for some resemblance of weight. The sixth-year slowly gets back his breath, and by the time he’s done so, the elevator-stairs have reached the other lower ground.

He steps out rather shakily, and glances around. All the paintings are staring at him like he’s some sort of monster, and the halls are empty, and disappointment shocks him like lightning would a tree.

_Of course Sirius isn’t here,_ He thinks, _he hates you._ Nothing _will change that._

Regulus lets out a ragged sigh, and he goes to head towards his dormitory, but a low sound to his right catches his attention. He turns towards it, eyebrows furrowing, and listens.

“Oi, stop moving otherwise I’ll kick y’all out,” James Potter’s voice says.

“Remus keeps stepping on my foot! It’s not my fault,” Peter Pettigrew voice whines.

“Sorry, Peter. It’s awfully small in here with the four of us. Is he out yet?” Remus Lupin’s voice answers.

“Well, if _someone_ hadn’t hidden us behind a huge-ass knight statue maybe we’d be able to _see_ if he was!” Sirius Black’s voice grumbles back.

“Dumbledore was eyeballing us weirdly so we had to hide! I swear that man can see through this. And don’t use that tone with me, mister!” James’s voice replies.

_Oh, Merlin,_ Regulus thinks sorrowfully, _they’re all idiots._

Regulus quickly flicks out his wand and shoots a revealing charm towards the voice’s, and a second later Sirius and his friends are toppling out from behind one of the, indeed, huge-ass knight statues. A dark cloak flies out and lands next to their fallen bodies in the hallway.

“You’re all horrible at remaining discreet,” Regulus tells them, putting his wand away.

Sirius shoots up first, a huge grin overtaking his face and Regulus heart _hurts._ How long has it been since someone has _grinned_ at him?

His brother strides towards him, but then pauses and looks down at his own hands as if suddenly unsure if he should reach out to Regulus. Sirius’s smile wavers slightly, but then he says cheerfully, “Reg, you absolute moron! That was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen, like, ever! You bloody showed Rosier his place!”

_How are you even speaking to me?_ Regulus thinks painfully, _after I let them force you away?_

Peter scrambles from the ground next, curiously questioning, “Are you expelled?”

“Well, obviously not, Pete,” James grabs the cloak and points his wand at it, the clothing magically decreasing. He stuffs it into one of his robes pockets before continuing, “Old mate still has his wand, as he just graciously displayed!”

He sends Regulus a sarcastic smile, which Regulus gladly gives back, but there’s a kind and joking gleam in James eyes that has never been there before.

“No, I’m not expelled,” Regulus says, turning his gaze back to Sirius’s, “I just have detention for two months and I’m not allowed to attend Quidditch training for a while.”

He tries not to think about how _weird_ it is, speaking to Sirius like this. Having a conversation. It’s…nice. It’s not easy, but it’s nice. Regulus breathes in. Breathes out.

“No joke?” Sirius grins again, but Regulus has a feeling this is also odd for him, “You mongrel.” He reaches out again but stops and drops his hand.

Remus squints at Regulus as he says, “Why _did_ you do that, though? After everything Sirius has told us, I thought you were as bad as Evan with the pureblood supremacy.” Sirius shoots Remus a look, but Regulus doesn’t mind his brother speaking of him. Barty has heard his fair share of Regulus Rants himself.

Regulus gnaws at his bottom lip and replies honestly, “I…never really got to explain myself to you,” He says to Sirius, who’s staring at him, “You just…left really suddenly and then I was Mother and Father’s _last hope_ after having been the…the _spare_ after so long and then, yeah, we just never spoke about anything.”

No one says anything, so Regulus continues, “In year one and two, yeah, I was a piece of prejudiced shit and it wasn’t okay but it was kind of a by product of being…of being—” _unloved, not needed, wanted, useless._ Regulus suddenly doesn’t know how to continue.

Sirius does it for him, “Of being neglected. I’m sorry,” It’s Regulus’s turn to stare, “Mother and Father were bad enough with hardly speaking to you, and you didn’t need me immediately judging and ignoring you for being Slytherin. I’m sorry for that, Reg.”

“I…” There’s a lump in his throat. Why’s there a lump in his throat? “It’s fine. You couldn’t have known. I’m sorry, too.” He manages to give a small smile, and he gets one in return.

There’s a comfortable silence for a moment before Regulus remembers his current, huge, life-threatening issue.

“Oh,” Regulus says, drawing their attention again, “I…um…kind of need…some help as well.”

Sirius nods seriously, “Anything.” He says it like he means it. Regulus heart clenches again.

“Mum and dad, they want…” Regulus pauses. How does he say this? _Just say it._ “They want me to take the Dark Mark. They sent a letter about it.”

Sirius’s eyes flare with anger, but Regulus is ninety-five percent sure it’s not aimed at him. James eyes narrow dangerously, Peter looks like he immediately wants to vanish into the face of the Earth and Remus’s eyebrows furrow.

Sirius tilts his head and his words come out darkly, “What…what did you say?”

“I told them no. Obviously. But that. That’s not the problem.” Regulus says, and he feels so _stupid_. Why did he have to send that letter like…that? It was so…so disrespectful! He could’ve just said no! _No, you couldn’t have._

“Then what is?” James asks.

“It was the way I said no. I kind of just… _toldthemtofuckoff._ ”

Peter squints at him, “Huh?”

Regulus breathes in. Breathes out. “I kind of just told them to fuck off.”

James immediately bursts into laughter. Remus’s eyebrows fly off his forehead. Peter grins. But Sirius doesn’t share his friend’s amusement. He knows what all of this means. Regulus is as good as dead if he goes back to Grimmauld Place.

When it becomes apparent that Regulus and Sirius aren’t joining in on the laughter, Sirius’s friends quiet down and assume frowns. 

“They’ll.” Sirius halts in his words. He breathes in and breathes out, and Regulus fiddles with his robes, “They’ll kill you.” His brother says.

“I know.”

Sirius opens his mouth and closes it.

James steps forward suddenly, and Regulus has to tilt his head back to look up at his brother’s friend, “Don’t go back to Grimmauld Place.” James tells him, “Come to my house with Sirius. Run away like him.”

What.

Regulus stares at him and then at Sirius, who is looking at James like he hung the stars in the sky.

“I—wait, you’d—” It’s embarrassing how much Regulus is stumbling over his words today, but he manages to get out a breathless, “ _Really_?”

James nods, determined.

Regulus says, “Why? I’m…I’m—”

“You’re what?” Sirius asks.

“Me.” Regulus finishes lamely, “I’m…me.”

Before his brother can respond to that, the gargoyle stairs suddenly start to shift upwards and Remus steps forward with a, “We have to go. Class starts any second now and McGonagall will have our asses if we don’t get there in time again.”

James nods again and says to Regulus, “I’ll send a letter.” He then turns and starts walking with Remus and Peter, but Sirius stays.

The two brothers stare at each other for a moment before Sirius says, “I’ll see you, Reg.”

_That sounds like a promise._

Regulus nods, but he doesn’t manage to get a word out. His breath is catching in his throat again. Sirius turns at that and the group are soon out of sight, and Regulus is left alone in the hallway. He blinks, and then he himself turns and walks away too.

_Maybe it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey wanna write a part three with regulus running away?? would anyone be interested cause like i'd write it!  
> feel free to request more regulus black based shit on my tumblr, @regulusblackprompts, or check out my main, @lacuniaa !!


	7. AF&NFG pt3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "@queen-of-alagaesia asked:  
> I would literally sell my soul for part 3 of prompt 38."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is lowkey just a chill, short chapter!! i wrote a lot of this while on a roadtrip thing so yeah it was very fun to do :DD sorry if it’s boring or disappointing! it’s lowkey just a fillerrrr  
> part 4 will be in the works! also special thanks to Yyuooh for regulus comforting the first-year idea :DD

Walking back to the dormitories, Regulus thought hard about what James had offered and what Sirius had looked like as they spoke. His brother had assumed easy grins as if there had never been a problem between them, and he apologised to Regulus as if the words had been on the tip of his tongue for eternity.

Regulus always assumed _he_ was the one that was constantly thinking of the other; yearning for some type of family, some type of warmth, some type of _something_. Something nice, something that Regulus didn’t have to fight for, something that came to him as easily as a moth to a flame.

But, surely, it had all been a dream. He isn’t _really_ going to run from home, to a new beginning where the sun could be seen in the house ( _It was obvious, wasn’t it? The Potter’s will never welcome him like Sirius. He’d be the outcast, the one pitied and the one left, rotten and foul_ ). He isn’t _really_ getting the burden of the Dark Mark off his shoulders and leaving his already shattered family in shambles ( _How could he? There would be no escaping or running, he’d be stuck forever, and he’d be forced to get the darkness injected into his skin like a serpent’s poison, emerald and black and wrong_.) He wasn’t _really_ going to finally be alive ( _He will always be nothing. He will always be dead. A happy family won’t change that. There’s too much in him, too much anger and obscurity. He will always just be a crumbling shell of a something that could have been more._ Should _have been more._ )

Regulus thoughts pause. He’s in the dungeon’s steps, frozen and leaning against the wall. His heart beats for a moment, a slow, dull, _thump_ , _thump_ , _thump_. He tries to bring his hand up to pinch his elbow, but his body is not his own, his mind is falling over the edge of a ravine and he will _never_ be warm again.

He can hear a faint whistle in his ear, ringing. Regulus realises it’s the rasp of his breath. Since he can’t move his hand, Regulus tries to regain his breathing. The stone wall is cold against his temple, and he can feel his pulse pounding against it if he focuses hard enough. He breathes in. He breathes out. In. Out. In. Out. An endless cycle of simply trying to relearn how to breathe.

A voice whispers to him, _who are you?_

 _Nobody,_ he answers back, eyes closing tightly. His shoulders shake.

_You will never be better. You will never be good enough._

He can try. He knows he can try, but the words get stuck in his mind, a cold ice barrier blocking them from answering the voice. Maybe it’s because it’s true.

Regulus knows he saw love in Sirius’s eyes, knows the grin was genuine and the worry was real, and the offer James made was as true as anything could possibly be, ( _It’s too much. It’s too much. Who are they? Why are they being nice? How are they being nice?_ ) but it’s hard to think of any of it as authentic.

All his life, he’s been the spare. The one who never spoke unless it was to Sirius. The one forgotten. And then he was suddenly his family’s last hope, and everything he had ever known had been ripped from his grasp and thrown into a fucking volcano. Everything had gone too fast and he was being treated as an equal, and as soon as young eleven-year-old Regulus got a taste of it, he had never wanted to let it go. So, he had acted like a prick. Like a brainwashed minion who didn’t know any better.

But then he had grown up, and the world was no longer black and white. It was full of colours. Glowing pink for those excited, vivid, _real_. Sunburn orange for those with the racing hearts and expressive hands. Sunset purple for those with the calm hearts but wide eyes, full of the universe and the planets within them.

The only thing that had ever been monotone and ran dry and grey was _himself_ , and the day third-year Regulus had learned that was the day the flame inside him flickered to no more than a small, dying spark.

( _It hurt more to be decaying than to be dead, Regulus thinks, staring at the wall_. _He wonders what it is like to be more._ )

But. Today— _colours_. There was the red-white anger at Evan Rosier, the purple-blue satisfaction with the fork and the table. There was the black-scarlet grim recklessness of sending the letter, the yellow-aqua shock of not being expelled. And then the orange due to an offered home. A way out. A way _in._

_Who are you?_

_Somebody._

Regulus opens his eyes, and finally reaches up to pinch himself. His hands are still shaking, and his breathing is still slightly ragged because he knows this feeling of unbeing will return again and again. But—but he’s here. _He’s here._ He’s going somewhere, finally.

It feels like something akin to warmth that glides through his body.

Regulus reaches the dorm rooms and slides in as silently as he can. Class is about to start, and if he hurries, he can get there in time—not that he wants to. The earlier rage that had ran through his body like his own blood was now gone, leaving Regulus’s body tired and exhausted.

He doesn’t bother looking in the common room, instead going straight for his room to snatch his transfiguration textbooks, quill and etcetera before dumping them into his satchel. He has no reason to walk as quietly as he is right now, but he moves silently, as always. Nobody is in the room, and he’s about to fully leave the Slytherin House area assuming he’s the only one in there when a slight snuffling catches his attention.

Regulus freezes on the spot, and slowly turns back to the common room.

There, on one of the couches near the fire, sits a very small boy. He has messy blonde hair that just pokes out over the top of the couch, and his shoulders are shaking with the fight against actually crying. Regulus looks back to the exit and then back to the child. Back to the exit. Back to the child. Where does he go? He could easily slip out right now, as the boy hasn’t noticed him yet. But that, admittedly, is a very asshole-y thing to do. And hey, Regulus is going to try and start this new thing called ‘being nice’, now that he’s heading for redemption—hopefully.

With one last hesitant look towards the exit, he tightens one hand on his satchel’s strap, and steps down into the common room. His shoes against the tiled floor causes the boy to look up and catch sight of Regulus immediately, which in turn makes the boy look slightly terrified because—

_Oh. Great._

It’s the first year that had been talking to Evan at breakfast. The one who had seen the fork go straight through his role-models hand. Regulus internally slaps himself across his own face. The poor kid must have been terrified.

The boy doesn’t move, instead choosing to watch Regulus like a hawk.

Regulus gulps. He breathes in. Breathes out. _Okay,_ he thinks, stepping forward slowly, _time to be comforting._

“Hello,” Regulus starts, “I, uh, are you…alright?”

The first-year stares at him, blinking.

He continues, “Listen, I’m, uhm, sorry you had to see that at breakfast. I hadn’t intended to… _react_ as viciously as I had. I hope you’re okay…?”

“Ares.” The kid says.

Regulus furrows his brows, “Sorry?”

“My name. It’s Ares.”

“Oh. Well, _are_ you okay, Ares?”

Ares pauses, and then responds quietly, “Yeah. I’m fine. Honestly…I’m not _scared_ of you, it was just…really, really loud at breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says.

“It’s okay. Evan was saying some messed up stuff, anyway.”

The sixth-year sighs softly, “That’s still not really an excuse for me having done that in front of you. You’re sure you’re okay?”

Ares nods and Regulus smiles softly and looks at his feet. A silence descends upon them, slightly awkward. The sixth-year looks to the exit again and nods uncomfortably to Ares. “Well, I guess, I’ll, er, be seeing you, then.”

 _Merlin,_ he’s horrible at this. At least the kid isn’t scared of him.

Regulus turns to go but Ares voice stops him. The younger boy says, “Wait!” and when Regulus turns back around, he’s met with a slightly embarrassed face.

Ares glances around and says quietly, “Can you tell me more…about the Quidditch match that Evan had been talking about?”

Something inside Regulus softens. He really does need to get to Transfiguration, but Ares does still look slightly upset, and its Regulus’s fault. The older boy nods and walks up to sit on the couch as well, sitting side-ways and cross-legged, facing Ares. The first-year has a twinkle in his eye as he copies Regulus’s position, leaning forward as Regulus begins his recap.

Being a Seeker means being in the sky with a birds-eye view of the match, so he has a lot more observations to tell Ares about, much to the first-years delight. They sit and chat for the rest of the morning lesson, and at one stage Ares even admits to needing help with a certain charm, so Regulus takes it upon himself to teach it to him. Regulus learns Ares doesn’t have a filter on his mouth, or a poker face, so as a result Regulus _also_ learns about Ares older sister and argumentative parents ( _Oh, Merlin. He had mentioned before he didn’t like how loud breakfast had been. Regulus must have triggered some bad memories for Ares by yelling.)_ He learns about how Ares can’t wait for Care for Magical Creatures, how the kid wants to play Quidditch but is slightly terrified of falling off, and how much he really enjoys Hogwarts.

The time passes quickly.

It’s extremely weird, unfamiliar, peculiar, but…it’s nice. It’s nice to just speak to someone, even if they’re a first-year child who is almost, embarrassingly, taller than him. _But_ it also has to end, and a quick look at the clock tells Regulus his second lesson, Charms, will be starting soon.

“It was nice meeting you, Ares, but we both have another lesson starting soon. I don’t want to get you into any more trouble.” Regulus leans over to pick up his satchel, and Ares bounces to his feet, looking at Regulus with wide eyes.

“What do you have?” He asks excitedly. Regulus has already told him, of course, but he’ll humour the kid.

Regulus looks at him curiously, “Charms. Why? What do you have?”

“I’ve got Potions. I’m horrible at it, but I’m sure I’m plenty good at Charms, now! I should come with you!” Ares switches his weight to one leg and then to the other, a nervous tell Regulus has noticed others have. He frowns, as Ares hadn’t requested that before, when Regulus had first told him he had Charms.

“Won’t your friends miss you?” Regulus says, and Ares looks at his shoes.

“Uhm. No, not really. I don’t really…have any.” Ares winces at himself and looks back up, “And Potions is just the _worst._ My ma and mother are really good potion makers, especially together when they’re not arguing, so Professor Slughorn expects me to be really good but I’m just…”

Regulus finishes for him, “Not?”

“Yeah.”

The sixth-year stands, “I can’t really take you to Charms, Ares, but I can help you with potions, if you want? I have detention for the next two months, so that will most likely take up most of my time, but I also don’t have Quidditch training as well, so maybe I’ll have spare blocks.”

Ares is looking at Regulus like he just told him Christmas has come early. Another idea pops in his head.

“Do you have a partner in potions?” Regulus asks, glancing at the door. Soon their housemates will be entering to collect their stuff for the next lesson.

Ares nods, “Yeah. Her name’s Mary. She’s a Ravenclaw. Why?”

“Well…” Regulus reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, “Is she nice? Maybe you can invite her to our Potions study lesson.” He thinks that if Ares and Mary can work together in Potions, they can hopefully become friends. Regulus pauses in his thinking.

Who the fuck _is_ Regulus today? Stabbing people with forks? Resisting his parents wishes? Speaking to Sirius? Helping out first years? Becoming matchmaker for friendships he shouldn’t be able to care les for? He can practically hear ( _feel)_ his mother’s awaiting screeches and wraith.

Ares looks thoughtful. He slowly nods, and a gradual grin overtakes his face. Before Regulus can even _think_ about moving, the boy is surging forward to hug him excitedly before taking off towards the dorms.

“Thanks, Regulus! Send me an owl for when you want to do the Potions!” Ares scampers into his room, leaving Regulus in the common room alone. The sixth-year glances around once, tiredly drags a hand over his face, and then waves a quick goodbye when Ares fully leaves.

He doesn’t realise how much silence Ares had been filling until it’s just Regulus alone. It seems to pulse hungrily from the walls, a fuzzy static noise constantly in the air. Regulus rolls one shoulder and retreats to his room to replace his Transfiguration things with his Charms, and when he exits the dormitory he pauses.

Barty is gazing out across the common room, a distant and expressionless look planted on his face. He turns his eyes to Regulus when the latter steps forward, and relief is such a powerful and immediate look on his face that Regulus nearly steps back in surprise.

His friend rushes forward, snatching Regulus into a tight hug, saying, “Thank Merlin. I thought Dumbledore had you expelled. _Why_ didn’t you come to Transfiguration? Everyone was talking about you, making up rumours and shit.”

“That’s why I didn’t come.” Regulus tells the white-lie easily, only a small pinch of guilt forming in him. He’s not ready to admit he’s turning into some sort of nice person yet. Not until he’s sure it won’t change.

Barty releases him from the hug to gaze down at his face, nodding, “Alright. I get that. You’re coming to Charms, though, right?”

Regulus nods, “Yeah. Are you ready?”

At Barty’s nod, they head for the door, and when they exit the Slytherin house room Barty turns to face Regulus, who gives him a curious look. Barty says, “We’re gonna stop at the kitchens first, though. You didn’t eat and it’s best not to be hungry during Charms class. Remember what happened to Avery that one time in year five, with the banishing charm?”

“Yes,” Regulus feels a smile paint his features. Avery had been complaining about being hungry the entire lesson and when he got hit with _Depulso_ by a classmate, he had flown across the classroom but wasn’t even able to vomit properly. He had dry-heaved until Mulciber had managed to drag him to Madam Pomfrey.

They make a stop at the kitchens, and the house-elves are more than happy to make them small snacks and a mug of hot chocolate each.

And Regulus feels like drinking hot chocolate just might be the weirdest ( _nicest_ ) thing he’s done today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for the love and support! sorry there was no regulus running away sequence :(( soon, soon!!  
> feel free to request more regulus black based shit on my tumblr, @regulusblackprompts, or check out my main, @lacuniaa !!  
> i’m also doing a small q&a thing on my @regulusblackprompts tumblr so feel free to go and ask some questions in the inbox :)


	8. AF&NFG pt4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @anon asked:   
> "I would love another part of prompt 38!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the last part! it's not edited so sorry for mistakes but i hope you all enjoy anyway and thank you for the continuous support! happy new year <33 and sorry for the wait!  
> tw: child abuse

The weeks pass by suspiciously okay.

Regulus, despite the abundance of detentions and shortage of Quidditch trainings, is actually at the most ease he has been in all year. Some people around Hogwarts still give Regulus an air bubble of space, and some look away quickly when they’re caught with their staring, but some students also clap him on the back or say, _hey, Evan had it coming!_ The incident isn’t forgotten, not really, but it’s Hogwarts, and more stuff happens. People gossip about a seventh-year romance triangle. People laugh about an escaped magical creature. People go on with their daily lives. Regulus hasn’t spoken to Evan or any of his goons, and the Professors around Hogwarts haven’t bought it up, so it all leaves Regulus to wonder if Dumbledore said anything to the lot of the staff. But, perhaps the most important thing to come out of the whole situation is that he and Sirius _look_ at each other, and they _speak_ to one another about _normal_ things.

_How was class this morning?_

_Did you hear about the Smith and Johnson rumour?_

_Y’know, you should help out with this upcoming prank…_

It’s good. Life is _good_ , even if Sirius and him have to speak in secret to make sure none of his old blood supremacist friends tell his mother about them reconnecting. 

But the holiday is coming up, and then Regulus will have to do the one thing he’s been avoiding even slightly _thinking_ about; he’ll have to run away from Grimmauld Place. There’s no other option. No ‘what if’, no ‘what about’. It’s just. He _has_ to leave. Regulus _can’t_ take the Dark Mark—no, scratch that, he _won’t._ Full stop.

However, there’s still lingering doubt in his head. He’s already told his parents he’s not returning home in a less-than-pleasant way, and now he’ll show up just to leave again. They’ll be suspicious, but Regulus can act like someone else sent the letter. Someone took it from his owl when he wasn’t watching, and he didn’t even notice—which will still most likely get him hurt. The Dark Mark was mentioned in the letter, and if he tells his parents someone else saw it there will be hell to pay, but less than what he would get if he said he himself did send the letter. Walburga might prod at his mind if she still suspects something. He’ll have to either block her ( _suspicious, she’ll be mad_ ), or force himself to lower his defences, force himself to think about something else and not the urgency to get away to the Potter’s house—whose lives he could, _will,_ be endangering even more so!

But. _But_. That’s the thing, isn’t it? He’s being offered a way out. A way to reconnect to a life once lost. A way to start over, a way to begin. The Potter’s know what they’re doing, as James wouldn’t just hand out a _get out of jail free card_ ( _Muggle boardgame Monopoly reference that Regulus has been playing thanks to Ares_ ) unless the seventh-year knew what he, and his family, were doing.

_You’re the last Heir, though. And the weakest out of the two. You’ll coming crawling back from a burned down house filled with four corpses, begging for forgiveness. It’s inevitable._

Regulus breathes. He lets out the exhale, and it curls like smoke in the night-time air.

_It won’t happen. I’ll make sure of it._

The weeks pass by, and the break begins.

The plans simple. Regulus rolls it over in his mind over and over again as he sits alone—they can’t risk Walburga or Orion seeing him with the marauders—in a compartment on the train, heading back to Grimmauld Place.

Tonight, when everyone else is asleep, Regulus will sneak out. He won’t bother unpacking his case with all his school supplies and clothes, so he’ll just be able to take it with him later. Euphemia Potter will be waiting outside in the streets for him, hidden by her invisibility cloak. James and Sirius had wanted to be the ones to collect them, but Euphemia had been firm in her letter that she would not put any children in danger. Once Regulus gets out of the house, without raising any alarms—Regulus had mentioned that Kreacher would help him out, but no one would listen, believing Kreacher wouldn’t do so—he will join Euphemia in the street, and they’ll be able to escape back to the Potter’s house, safe and sound.

It all sounds simple, but Regulus knows in his heart that something will go wrong. It’s not just his parents he’s worried about—it’s the house. Grimmauld Place has been home to the Black family for centuries, and now two of its residents are running away. Regulus isn’t sure it will even let him go.

The train pulls up at King’s Cross Station, and Regulus exits with the other passengers. He glances out the window as he goes, carting his case behind him, and spots his mother and father standing side by side near a bench. They’re dressed in the usual black attire with dark expressions, and Regulus takes a deep, stuttering breath as he meets their eyes, finally exiting the train fully.

He underestimated how entirely terrifying it is to see them again.

Their eyes darken and narrow, and Regulus see’s his father’s fist clench tightly, which in turn makes Regulus’s throat shrink in size, the oxygen in him thick and sickly. His mother inhales sharply and extends a hand out and does a simple _get over here_ motion, and his feet move on their own accord. They’re angry—the last time they spoke was with Regulus telling them to fuck off in a letter, how could they not be? But they don’t know it was him. He has to be calm, act like he has no idea what’s happening and why they look like _that._

Regulus breathes in and then out and begins walking, trying to hide the raising of his shoulders and the feeling and need to _go, go, go._ He makes his expression blank and forces himself to think about mundane things like homework, Quidditch, anything else in case his parents try to prod at his mind.

As soon as he reaches their side, Walburga snatches his wrist in a bruising grip and hisses, “And here we thought we’d be standing here like buffoons because our son had decided to stay at Hogwarts like some low-class embarrassment instead of getting an honour others would and have killed and died for. I would ask you the meaning for that letter you sent us, but I’m afraid that others will overhear our conversation and spread the news that our disappointment of a child is even more of a failure than we had all thought. We won’t hear a word from you until we are home, Regulus. Do I make myself clear?”

The words sting, and Regulus has to stop himself from telling them there and then that he didn’t send the letter. He has to make it clear that he’s still obedient before he tells them, so he just nods and follows when she turns. The Black’s presence at king’s Cross is a horrible one, and all the different types of families back away and leave a path for them to walk through as Walburga charges onwards.

Orion walks behind Regulus, and he can feel his eyes burning a hole through his neck. Regulus breathes in and then out. In. Out. In. Out. He meets Sirius’s eyes as he’s about to walk through the portal that will send them to the Muggle King Cross Station, and he see’s fire burn in them as his brother regards their parents.

It’s enough to give Regulus hope.

The house is as silent as always as Regulus sets his suitcase down in his room. His parents are waiting downstairs for his explanation, and he desperately tries to still his shaking hands. All he has to do is say he didn’t send a letter. All he has to do is say he didn’t send a letter. _All he has to do is say he didn’t send a letter._

Somehow, he manages to make his way downstairs without vomiting and passing out, and he walks a few steps forward into the loungeroom. His mother is standing and staring into the fire with an endless gaze and his father is sitting down against the arm of the couch, gazing down at a newspaper. Kreacher is nowhere to be seen. Regulus glances from one to the other and swallows silently, waiting for them to speak first. The tension in the room threatens to choke him.

His mother speaks first, “Did you get the letter we sent to you, Regulus? It was particularly important.”

Her grey eyes snap away from the fire to him, and they almost make him squirm. “No.” He says, but it comes out like a breathless whisper, so he repeats himself with a stronger, “No, Ma’am.”

Walburga’s hand clenches around the wand that slides down her sleeve, and Regulus barely has time to close his eyes before her hand slashes out and a flash of white greets him. A pained sound escapes him, and he steps backwards, the slashing spell hitting his cheek and making a cut across it. Blood dribbles down his face and he stares at his mother, back hitting the wall.

“You _IDIOT_!” She screeches, and she storms forward until there’s barely an inch between them. Her face twists uglily and she sneers down at him, “Do you have _any_ idea what was on that letter?”

Regulus, squinting through the pain throbbing on his cheek and barely holding his shaking together, doesn’t manage to stop himself from snapping back, “I obviously don’t know what was on it if I didn’t get it, did I?”

His mother snarls and slaps him, and when his head snaps to the side she knocks his legs out from underneath him. He hits the heavy hard ground below him with a groan, his head ringing from where it collides against the ground, and his vision wavers for a second. Walburga follows him down and snatches his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Do you want to know what was on the letter, Regulus?” Her lip upcurls, and Regulus feels like his heart is going to beat out from him. When he doesn’t answer, she shakes his entire body and says louder, “ _Do you want to know what was on the letter?”_

“What?” He hisses, scared, and scared and scared. He knows what she’s going to say but the idea of having to live that life makes him want to shrivel up and disappear. He makes his mind blank, though, the knowledge of his father still sitting silently on the couch a threat of Legilimency.

She leans forward to whisper, “You’re getting the Dark Mark, Regulus. You’ll make us all proud.”

He lets out a shaky breath and Walburga stands back up, turning back to stare at the fire again. Her eyes turn glassy, and Regulus meets the emotionless gaze of his father. No one says anything more, so Regulus gets to his feet to get to the bathroom, hoping to clean the blood off himself and tend to the wounds with a healing charm.

As his feet hit the beginning of the ancient stairs, Walburga says, “Are you happy, Regulus?”

The words make him pause and he turns to face them again, but they’re both still turned away. The room seems to turn darker somehow, and he licks his lips nervously, frowning.

“Yes, Mother.” He answers and takes a small amount of pride in the steadiness of his voice, “It’s an honour.”

She hums, adding, “Good. Do clean up. Our guests will be here tonight, and you better be glad that they’re attending on such short notice.”

The world tilts a little bit sideways.

No.

_No._

Tonight. He’s getting the Dark Mark _tonight_ , which is when he’s also escaping. He has to go out the door, the windows have been charmed locked ever since Sirius ran off but exiting the house when a group of Death Eaters and Voldemort himself will be inhabiting the space in front of the door is suicide.

Regulus nods once, even if his parents aren’t looking at him, and turns and walks up the stairs as calmly as he can. He cleans himself up almost robotically, the healing charm not quite working with his cut and leaving behind a long perfect diagonal scar on his left cheek, just under his eye. He clenches his fists around the counter tightly and closes his eyes to breathe, feeling horrified.

The sudden thought of Euphemia coming to retrieve him and instead being greeted by Death Eaters and their Lord has his mind reeling, and he stops breathing. What if they think it’s all a trap and Regulus is left behind? Regulus can’t be abandoned again. He can’t. He _won’t._

He tugs on his hair and thinks. He needs a new plan. He can ask Kreacher to distract the Death Eaters and get out through the door when they aren’t looking. He can try and break the charm on his window. He can fight his way out.

“Regulus.”

He snaps his head towards the figure of his father, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He must have opened it silently, and Regulus berates himself for not hearing it sooner. He blinks once, clearing his thoughts, and stares up at Orion. His father has always been taller than Sirius and Regulus, but he must’ve grown even more because he towers over his son, and it sets Regulus’s nerves alight.

“Unpack your suitcase. Your room must not be messy.” With that, his father turns and walks away. That’s the difference between Walburga and Orion; Walburga stays and confirms that Regulus will do what she asks, hungry for the fear that makes him do it. Orion just doesn’t repeat himself and knows he will do what he asks, trusting the fear installed within Regulus.

Regulus nods thinly at empty air and goes to his room, one hand steadying himself against his doorway. He stares at his case and gulps, knowing that he needs to unpack now, but also knowing that if he does, he won’t have anything to take with him to the Potters and then they’d have to pay for his things, and he doesn’t deserve that, Regulus doesn’t deserve that, he doesn’t deserve _any of this—_

He breathes in. He breathes out. He starts to unpack, using his hands instead of his wand, feeling like if he pulls it out he’ll snap it in half.

After he finishes unpacking Regulus starts pacing in his room, hands rubbing up and down his arms, an insatiable chill going through his veins like blood and bane and poison. He calms himself down before Walburga storms up the stairs and says a quick, “Get dressed. They’re arriving.”

He glances at the window, closes his door, and stares down at his palms. He can hear the door opening and chatter starting downstairs and the calls for Kreacher and lets a small sigh out. Regulus turns back to his window and rakes a hand through his hair, but before he can do anything a small glimmer of white attracts his attention.

A large, blue, and white glamourous dog Patronus races through the air and into his room, and Regulus freezes as he stares at it. It looks as though it has a scruffy texture, and its tail waggles continuously.

“Reg,” The dog says, and Regulus recognises the dogs voice as Sirius’s, “Mrs Potter got sent on a mission so me and James are here to pick you up instead. We’re waiting outside near the entrance to the park, but we’ve noticed other wizards apparating here. We haven’t been seen but it’s only a matter of time, so you gotta be quick man.”

They are _here_? The idiots are going to get themselves killed. Regulus tugs at his hair again and the dog vanishes, leaving him alone. He has to get out of the house soon, but it’s going to be nearly impossible. _Think,_ he breathes in sharply, _think._

He himself can’t cast a Patronus so he won’t be able to respond, and he doesn’t believe he’ll be able to sneak through the door, so trying to get the window’s locked spell unlocked is his best bet of escaping.

A sharp knock on his door brings him out of his thoughts. Walburga opens the door without asking permission and they lock eyes. Her gaze takes in his outfit, which he still hasn’t changed out of, and a frown twitches at her lips as she says, “You aren’t dressed.” She purses her lips, “It will have to do—the guests are already here. Come and attend to them.”

Regulus steps out first and walks down the stairs with her hot on his trail, and he enters the living room, observing who has arrived to see him receive the Dark Mark. He can see Bellatrix and other younger Death Eaters, as well as senior ones that look halfway to heaven or hell. He doesn’t see Narcissa or Lucius anywhere, and he doesn’t have time to look for more familiar faces before Bellatrix yelps happily and makes her way towards him. She clambers past other guests and throws her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into an uncomfortable hug.

“My little cousin!” She shouts, gleefully. Bellatrix pulls back to cup his face, “All grown up! Tell me, are you excited?”

Regulus puts on his best act, saying, “Of course. It’s an honour.”

Another Death Eater steps forward, and says in a deep, solemn voice, “You’ll be the youngest Death Eater there is, boy. You’ll make history,” He nods his head in a respectful way, and Regulus suddenly feels sick.

“Oh,” the teenager says weakly, “I didn’t know that.”

The man puts a hand on his shoulder and Regulus is forced to speak with more and more people, repeating the words ‘it’s an honour’, and ‘thank you, truly’ more than a thousand times. His heart feels like its about to beat from his chest and his thoughts feel like they’re melting out the side of his ears, and his fingertips are going fuzzy. Regulus spots Kreacher out of the side of his eye and makes his getaway when Walburga pulls his current audience into chatter about something else.

“Kreacher,” Regulus says when he reaches the house elf, “I’m so sorry but do you think you can make a small distraction? I just need to go and breathe for a moment. This is all a little much.” He doesn’t want to reveal to Kreacher that he’s running away, but he still feels bad about leaving the house elf behind. He’ll come back for him and release him as soon as possible; Regulus will just have to trick Walburga into giving him clothing in the future.

Kreacher tilts his head and studies him, “Of course, Master Regulus. You are looking quite pale. Do be sure to be quick, I hear our Dark Lord is arriving soon.” With that, he turns when someone else calls his name, and is swift to ‘accidentally’ spill the wine they asked for on them.

As soon as the guests are distracted and letting out indignant exaggerated sounds, Regulus turns to the door, and manages to get through the crowd. He weaves past a young blond man and a green haired woman and his hand is just wrapping around the door handle, and he’s just about to escape—

A heavy sense of dread settles in his stomach. The little life in the room is sucked out and the darkness in the corners grows larger and larger. The door opens, and in steps a man.

Regulus wouldn’t even have to have eyes to know this is Voldemort. His dark presence is enough, and power seems to radiate from his form, almost making Regulus lean towards it. The people in the room all immediately turn to face him, most likely feeling him as well.

The Dark Lord is attractive and tall and powerful, and Regulus locks eyes with him and sees the ring of red around his pupils. Regulus doubts anyone else can notice, as they’re all a far distance away, but his skin is also a little sickly and grey.

Regulus quickly steps back, eyes wide and feeling terrified because _holy shit,_ how is Regulus going to get out of this? Did Voldemort see James and Sirius hiding? Did he know that Regulus was just about to run away? _Is he reading his mind right now?_

Bellatrix launches herself forward and says, “He’s here! He’s here! Aunty Walburga, has Kreacher got the food ready? I’m sure we’re all peckish and ready to eat now!”

Walburga nods and turns to fuss around in the kitchen, and Orion steps forward. He holds a hand out and Voldemort shakes it, and Regulus tries to get himself to move but his feet feel like they’re shackled to the ground, and he can’t do anything but stare out the door as it closes behind Voldemort.

He’s not getting out, is he?

“Welcome to our home,” Orion says, “It is an honour to host the evening. This is my son, Regulus.”

Voldemort releases Orion’s hand and turns to observe Regulus again. He tries to force himself to offer a respectful nod, but he still can’t move. Orion shoots him a dark look, and Voldemort tilts his head to the side.

Orion clears his throat, “He’s not usually this disrespectful, I assure you.”

“Oh, I don’t take offense, Orion. I am used to others being in awe at my presence. Why don’t you go attend to the others while I give Regulus a pep talk?”

Orion glanced over his shoulder and nodded, “Of course, of course.” Bellatrix skips after him, delighted, and Regulus turns to face Voldemort slowly.

Regulus forces himself to speak first when a few moments of silence pass, “It’s—”

“An honour?” Voldemort interrupts, and he flicks his wand vaguely, and two glasses filled with a clear substance float towards them. He hands one to Regulus and sips at the other, giving him a thin smile.

Regulus blinks down into the glass and back up at Voldemort, unsure of what to say. This is extremely uncharted territory.

Voldemort continues, “Of course I know it’s an honour to meet me, Regulus. But I must say, it’s also an honour to meet _you._ Do you want to know why?”

“I…” Regulus says, “Of course.”

“A few weeks ago, you stabbed Evan Rosier’s hand with a fork. You told him to stop saying blood supremacist things. You gained a new reputation at Hogwarts.”

Regulus stayed silent.

Voldemort glanced across the room, “People avoided you. Some people cheered for you, others became scared. Scared of your _anger._ Scared of your true colours.” He pauses and takes another sip, “You must have made the scene quite believable.”

Regulus frowns. Scene? Voldemort thinks he faked the fight with Rosier? He opens his mouth and closes it and then smooths his features, and says, “Yes. I’m told I can be a good actor when I want to be, my Lord.”

Voldemort smiles again, and Regulus hopes to dear Merlin nobody can hear his racing heart, “Tell me, did you feel powerful?”

Regulus breathes in. Out. In. Says, “Yes.”

Voldemort hums, and his eyes rake across the room again, and Regulus lifts his glass to his mouth just as the wizard next to him replies with, “You and I aren’t so different, Regulus.”

The ceremony starts, and Regulus has no idea what the fuck is happening.

Candles are surrounding him in a circle, and he knows he looks wide-eyed and crazed, but he can’t make himself change his features. The lounge room’s furniture has been vanished by a spell, and Regulus can’t make out anyone’s faces, all of them covered with masks. He can only see Voldemort, who stands across from him.

Regulus shakily looks around, and Voldemort starts speaking. He gives the Death Eaters around him a riveting war speech, and they all cheer and jeer with joy and victory, and Regulus can’t make out anything. He’s so afraid. So afraid.

Voldemort waves his wand, and emerald sparks float above them, and his eyes flare red. Regulus stares at the ground and hopes it swallows him. The Dark Lord turns to face him, grinning.

“Are you ready to begin the ritual, Regulus? Ready to join my ranks of supporters, join our cause?” His voice is loud and thundering, powerful and greedy. Bellatrix yips along with him like a hound.

Regulus stares at him, and the room grows quiet as they all wait for his answer.

He doesn’t even have to think before he says, “Fuck off.”

And then he’s running. He shoves past the crowd, ignores the gasps of shock, ignores the horrible look in Voldemort’s eyes and ignores everything except for his instincts yelling for him to run faster. Someone is standing in front of the door, guarding it, so Regulus turns up the stairs and runs to his bedroom.

He points his wand at the window, shouting, “ _Bombarda!_ ”

Nothing happens. He can hear footsteps nearing his room. Regulus tries again, “ _Bombarda!_ ”

Nothing happens. Regulus feels like a black hole is in his stomach. He turns to see Voldemort at his doorway.

“ _How dare you—_ ” He hisses, and Regulus dodges a red spell just in time. It hits his window, and a small crack is fractured in the glass.

Regulus dodges another spell, and it hits his wall this time. Voldemort doesn’t seem to know he’s giving Regulus an escape route as he snarls, “You embarrass me in front of my followers, you _dare_ to not take the _honour_ of the _Dark Mark_!”

Regulus jumps in front of the window, says, “The only honour you could possibly give me right now is the honour of getting the fuck away from me!”

Voldemort yells out and an orange spell flies towards him. Regulus jumps to the side and the _Bombarda_ charm hits the window so hard the wall crackles and crumbles. Grimmauld Place groans and creaks, and the ceiling of his room begins to crack. Regulus doesn’t wait to see what happens. He jumps out of the building, and hits the concrete street below with a thump, immediately getting knocked out.

Regulus can only hope James and Sirius stayed to save him.

He wakes up to a crackling fire.

Regulus jolts upwards, wincing in pain, and looks around. James is sitting down on the ground near a fireplace and Sirius is sitting on the other end of the couch Regulus is laying in. He’s in a homey looking house Regulus can only assume is the Potter’s home, and he can hear people in the kitchen.

Sirius looks over at him, delighted when he see’s he’s awake, “Hey, Regulus! How are you feeling?”

Regulus can’t help but launch himself forward. Sirius lets out an _oof_ as Regulus hugs him, shaking slightly. He had been scared out of his mind. Voldemort had almost _killed_ him. He almost died. Merlin.

“Thank you,” Regulus whispers desperately, “Thank you. I thought I was gonna die.”

Sirius hugs him back just as fiercely, “We did too for a second there. You just flew out and landed on the street and we just saw bloody You-Know-Who and…just, holy shit, Reg. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“How did you get me out?”

“Mum apparated as soon as you landed. She had just finished her mission and was coming to get you then, bloody good thing too, eh? She apparated us all out, pulled our ears a bit for putting ourselves in danger. We would have been toast otherwise,” James answers from his place on the ground. Regulus sighs into Sirius’s chest and goes to move backwards but his brother holds on tighter, so Regulus accepts his fate and lays down half-on-top of Sirius.

“Thank you,” Regulus says again, then slowly admits, “I was…really scared.”

“Well,” Euphemia Potter slides into the room with a tray with mugs on it. The smell of hot chocolate fills the room, and she continues, “You’re safe now, Regulus. I promise.”

“Me too,” Sirius and James answer at the same time, and Regulus closes his eyes, a soft feeling in his stomach.

Safe. It’s a foreign and strange word, but Regulus thinks he quite likes the sound of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can reach me on @regulusprompts on tumblr! come talk to me about regulus or request more writing eheh


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